CP BKII ChptX Cat Does Some Culling WNa Trioblidi
by wanderingchat
Summary: As Cat recovers, she faces challenges within the hospital system.  Meanwhile, on the outside, the Sons prepare for their final showdown with Weston and Zobelle while Chuckie Marstein settles into a new role, the straight and narrow.


The characters and events involving the Sons of Anarchy are the creation of Kurt Sutter.

No copyright infringement is intended.

Any use of lyrics and the mention of songs and performers in this text is also not intended to infringe upon any copyrights held by any of the artists.

All original characters that are not part of the SOA universe are products of my own imagination. Any similarities to real persons are purely coincidence.

Much thanks and love go to:

My DH (who is thankfully very much alive!), for taking the time to offer insights and for writing down the first husband's thoughts and feelings in confronting Tig Trager for the first and only time. Also for having the love in his heart to allow me _all _my little obsessions and not feeling threatened by them. We've had 15 great years together; here's to many more!

My best friend (who does live in FL) for kicking my ass when needed and for love throughout these many years. My unofficial 'Godchild', her daughter, for her love as well.

The Indy Tarts and Tartans fan group, for giving encouragement, even though there was little GB involvement. Tignation, Samcro forums, SOA and Kim Coates Yahoo Groups, Facebook and Sons of and other SOA message boards who also took an interest and added their encouragement. You know who you are.

Kim Sisk (Sisko44 on , check out her SOA/Tig Story called 'Sapphires and Whiskey'. It rocks!) for the wonderful cover art. I love it!

Finally, much thanks to Mr. Kurt Sutter for creating the SOA universe in the first place, and to Mr. Kim Coates for his excellent portrayal of Alex 'Tig' Trager.

**Charming Pawse **

**Book II Chapter X**

**Cat Does Some Culling **

**with Na Trioblidi **

Margaret Murphy closed the door to her office with a resounding 'thud' and a profound sense of relief. 'If I had to hear one more word about that rally and Cat Marshall's injuries, I'd've torn my hair out!' she huffed as she logged into her computer.

'I hate what the League stands for, but I wouldn't have been disappointed if they'd gotten rid of that motorcycle gang! I never realized how much people in this town fawns over that coffee slinging biker whore! She's even captured the attention of the area media! I'm glad Unser was able to get rid of _them! _I just don't understand why he won't do likewise with that motorcycle gang!"

Her fingers viciously squeezed the mouse as she opened the file containing the previous night's Emergency Room admissions. Her eyes skimmed over the list, looking for one particular name. Her mouth thinned in a grimace when she found that Cat Marshall had been admitted in critical condition, signed in by Alexander Trager. The woman's insurance information was listed, and under additional financial responsibility was the notation 'The Sons of Anarchy Emergency Medical Fund.'

Margaret moved her computer mouse to another file that enabled her to cross reference billing records. 'I recall that fund from the Telford case. I didn't believe it existed. Still don't. I'll bet that bill is _still _not paid and the hospital will have to write it off!'

She entered Telford's name into the billing record with a grim smile of anticipation, expecting a substantial balance to appear. She was sorely disappointed to find a zero balance.

"I don't believe it! It didn't even go a week old!" She cried in surprise. 'Juan Carlos Ortiz, another of those bikers was moved here at that woman's request, could it possibly be. . .?" Her fingers flew over the keys of her computer to find that the Ortiz bill, also, had been paid in full by the same fund, as had an ER bill for Alexander Trager.

"What is that woman, a closet Rockefeller? And why so benevolent to a bunch of thugs? Not that I'm surprised she'd feel an attachment to them, she rides her own bike all over town like one of 'em! She's a true biker whore, more than Gemma Morrow! That black attire might've worked for Johnny Cash, but it does nothing for her," she scathingly dismissed the businesswoman.

She shook her head in consternation. "What's with the professional women in this town? Tara Knowles didn't seem to be the type to get involved with a biker thug. To hear town gossip, that biker whore Marshall sounded too decent for that lifestyle. It just doesn't make sense!'

Margaret didn't like disorder in her hospital. Cat Marshall didn't fit into her orderly work environment any better than Dr. Knowles. 'I'm going to get to the bottom of this!'

She marched to the elevator, took it to the critical care floor, and headed to Cat's room. She entered without knocking to find a biker sitting next to the bed while the patient was speaking on the phone. Another dark-haired man was sitting on the other side of the patient's bed.

Both men rose at her entrance. The biker inquired, "May I help you, ma'am?"

"I'm the hospital administrator. Who are you and what are you doing here when it's not visiting hours?" Margaret replied haughtily.

"Stone Coyote, ma'am. I'm from Portland, Oregon, and I'm guardin' Puddy Cat."

"Guarding her from what?" Margaret asked, her eyes widening with surprise, noting with disdain that the patient raised a finger for silence. 'Just what do these people think will happen in a hospital?'

"Can y'all hold the line a second, darlin'? There's a little too much noise in here for me to concentrate. . . Thanks, darlin'. Be right back." Cat placed her hand over the mouthpiece. "Stone Coyote, what's with the ruckus?

"Lady says she's the hospital administrator, Puddy Cat. Wants to know why I'm here. I was just explainin' things to her." Stone Coyote grinned.

Cat nodded, a wry smile lighting her face. "That's nice. Would all y'all keep it down to a dull roar for me? I hate to be rude and talk over y'all, but I gotta get this claim in on the car."

Stone Coyote grinned in response. "Sure thing, Puddy Cat!" He gestured for Margaret to follow him to the doorway. "If you'll just step this way, ma'am, we can discuss your concerns." He held the door open for her and waited for her to proceed him into the hallway.

The dark-haired man never spoke during the exchange, but held a hand over his mouth as if he were smothering a laugh. His eyes were sparkling with amusement.

Margaret glared at the room's occupants in fury. 'How dare they talk to me like that! Who do they think they are?'

Cat returned Margaret's glare with a pleasant expression, still holding one hand over the mouthpiece. "Ma'am, the sooner you go with Stone Coyote, the sooner I can finish this, and then you will have my undivided attention."

Margaret favored her with another glare, then turned and walked past the SAMPOR President. Stone Coyote grinned and winked at Cat before following Margaret into the hall.

After the door closed behind him, Stone Coyote turned to answer Margaret's original question. "My charter is watching out for Puddy Cat. There's a strong possibility that the League of American Nationalists might try to finish what they started last night, which was to kill her," Stone Coyote easily picked up the interrupted conversation. "The Sons of Anarchy and her old man, Tig Trager, believe LOAN caused the accident that hurt Puddy Cat."

'Oh, my God! These people are too much! As if the League would target _her._' Margaret rolled her eyes towards the heavens. "We have plenty of security guards to protect our patients! Extra security is **not** necessary, especially _your _kind of security!"

"Normally, ma'am, we'd agree," Stone Coyote replied, unbothered by her obvious antipathy for him. "However, early this morning, someone dressed up as a hospital staffer and gained access to Puddy Cat's room. Fortunately, Tig was here to keep her safe. We decided we didn't want to take any chances with her safety."

Stone Coyote gazed intently at the administrator. '_She _doesn't have to know that the person in question is sitting next to Puddy Cat's bed! Tig cleared the man, and he's a friend of hers, that's all that matters.' Stone Coyote stifled an ironic grin. "I believe Tig already mentioned the incident to hospital security, Ms -" he glanced at the ID badge attached to the lapel of her suit jacket, "-Murphy. You might wanna check with them."

"I most certainly shall!" She snarled.

Any additional comment she had to make was interrupted by Frosty's appearance in the doorway. "Excuse me. Cat's finished her claim with the insurance company, and would be happy to talk with you."

Margaret turned her back on Stone Coyote and stormed into Cat's room, both men following on her heels. "Your presence isn't necessary!" she snapped irritably.

"Ms. Murphy, you might be the administrator, but this is _my _room, and _I'll _decide whose presence is necessary!" Cat replied firmly. "If y'all wanna talk with me, y'all _will _keep a civil tongue in your mouth when addressin' my friends, you got dat?" Her good eye blazed angrily at the woman until Margaret's gaze was forced to turn away.

"I apologize, gentlemen," her mumble was insincere.

Frosty and Stone Coyote nodded acceptance, both figuring that was as genuine an apology as they'd get. Frosty resumed his seat on Cat's right side, while Stone Coyote leaned against the dresser, leaving the chair on Cat's left side vacant for Margaret.

Cat indicated the chair. "Have a seat, ma'am. I'm afraid we didn't get your name. I don't have my cheaters on, so can't read your name tag."

"My name is Margaret Murphy. I'm the hospital administrator. I wanted to talk with you about the company you keep."

Cat's right eyebrow climbed up her brow, which made her uncomfortable from her injuries. "Oh?" She put a lot of emphasis in that one word. Frosty caught on to the guardedness in her tone and leaned forward to offer his support. "I would think that topic is beyond the scope of your duties,_ madam_."

Frosty and Stone Coyote both winced at the emphasis she put on the one word. 'She's gettin' hissed off! Can't blame her, though' Frosty observed to himself.

'That woman's playin' with fire,' Stone Coyote nodded wordlessly at Frosty, both men in complete non verbal understanding. 'She's bringin' it on herself.'

"Would it be possible for us to speak without the – _gentlemen - _present?" Margaret asked.

"I thought you wanted to talk to me about my choice of friends, who are right here," Cat replied quietly. "Seein' as how you've already insulted them, I see no reason to send them away so you can talk about 'em behind their backs."

Margaret flushed and wiggled in her chair, feeling uncomfortable under Cat's and Stone Coyote's measuring gazes. "I meant that I'd feel a little more comfortable speaking to you without an audience."

Cat smiled, a slow, deliberate smile that Frosty recognized right away. 'Uh, oh! That's her 'eat shit and die' grin. That means trouble with a capital 'T'. Miss Margaret is gonna wish she hadn't asked to go one on one with my girl!'

She glared at the administrator. "Your comfort, _madam _is the least of your worries!"

Frosty squeezed her hand. "We'll go, let you two women have some privacy. C'mon, friend," he spoke invitingly to Stone Coyote. "You probably need a smoke, and I need directions to _Charming Pawse _so I can get Cat some decent coffee like I promised Tig."

Stone Coyote glanced at Cat and raised inquiring eyebrows at her. She sensed his questioning expression and nodded her assent. "I'll be back in a few minutes, Puddy Cat," he assured her. "Holler if you need me."

"I'll be back a little later, once I've checked out the coffeehouse for ya, Kitten," Frosty added before following Stone Coyote into the hall.

Margaret wrinkled her nose in disgust at Frosty's mention of the coffeehouse. "Disgusting place! All those cats roaming about! People talk about how cute and precious those filthy creatures are in their enclosed space. Hah! I'll bet when no one's around she allows them to run all over the place spreading filth from their paws on everything, including the food! Why she was allowed to have them there is beyond me!'

Cat was blissfully unaware of Margaret's opinion of her business, though she could sense the agitation radiating off the woman like heat from a desert highway. "OK, Ms. Murphy. You've got somethin' on your mind, so start talkin'." Cat settled herself into a comfortable position. 'And be prepared to get your holier than thou attitude stuffed back at you when you're done, cause I've got a few choice words for ya!'

Tig normally enjoyed riding with his brothers, feeling the wind in his face while the roar of Harley engines and the wind filled his ears. He found little enjoyment in the ride from Charming to Galt. His heart and soul were back at St. Thomas. It took a lot of effort to keep his mind centered on the upcoming meeting with Jimmy O'Phelan.

He was tired, but not exhausted, despite having gotten little sleep after Cat regained consciousness. 'That damn dream about McLaughlin rippin' me a new asshole was more vivid than the 'shroom trip! Still dunno if it was really McLaughlin givin' me Hell, or if it was my own feelings.'

His subconscious was alert and aware of her every move and sound throughout the night. On occasion during the drug-induced sleep, she would utter a small gasp or moan of pain when she moved the wrong way. He'd stroke her hair or back until she grew quiet again.

He'd felt some comfort in the contact, and hoped it had given her some. He'd doze off only to have the cycle repeat again until Frosty had arrived, and then again later when Stone Coyote had taken over the watch.

'I'm damn lucky she wasn't hurt any worse, though it's bad enough," he consoled himself. 'I hope to Hell she doesn't lose the sight in that eye. She'll fight me like a wildcat if I try to keep her from ridin' "just because one eye is bad".' He smiled wryly at the idea. 'I can already hear her tellin' me ''If Big Otto rode with one good eye, so can I!" and then go off and prove it!'

Alex knew that she had a long road of recovery ahead. Though she'd come out of the coma from the accident, she was still listed as critical. 'She's gonna need time to heal. I'm not gonna let her rush herself, even if I hafta tie her to the damn bed!' A lecherous grin crossed his face at the thought, which pushed the less pleasurable images of the previous evening to the back of his mind. He straightened in the bike's saddle as the club roared into Galt. 'Yeah, that might be a _lot _of fun, a'right!'

Margaret sat primly in her chair, her gaze directed on Cat. "I don't understand why someone with your obvious intelligence would get emotionally involved with a gangster! Is it some kind of mid-life crisis thing for you? With Dr. Knowles, I'd call it a rebellious attraction to a 'bad boy'. You're old enough to know better!"

Cat stared in shocked anger at the woman's intrusive line of questioning, hoping her shock and indignation didn't show on her face. "_Oye vay_! No one's used _that _particular phrase on me since I left high school! I find your questions pretty intrusive, lady!"

"I'm looking for enlightenment. Dr. Knowles hasn't been forthcoming when I've asked her. I hoped you might be more willing to help me understand, seeing that we are contemporaries."

'Contemporaries? The only thing we have in common is that we're female! I don't blame Tara for not wantin' to discuss her personal life with y'all! I wanna enlighten ya, either!' Cat shook her head to clear her rapidly rising agitation. "Ms. Murphy, it's not easy to explain why two people care about each other, especially when they _appear _to be opposites. Sometimes opposites attract and stick like they're super glued together while those that would appear to be the most compatible can't make it work. My ancestors had a sayin' that you can't really know someone until ya walk a mile or so in their moccasins. Same goes for my feelin's for Tig, and Tara's for Jax. We're opposites to all outward appearances, but the attraction strongly binds us."

"I don't get it," Margaret frowned.

'Why am I not surprised?' Cat reigned in her temper and tried another tack. "Let me ask _you _somethin'. When you see the Sons, what immediately comes to mind?"

"They're all no-good hoodlums," she replied instantly.

"Is that _all?_"

Margaret shrugged, a non vocal gesture that asked what else was there to see.

Cat frowned, allowing some of her anger to creep into her voice. "You don't see a man? Someone who has some damn good mechanical skills? You don't see someone's friend, lover, husband, child, boyfriend, uncle, or brother? Maybe even a veteran of our nation's armed forces who served with honor?"

Margaret shook her head negatively to each question Cat posed. "I only know what I've seen of them, and their loud, obnoxious behavior when Mr. Telford was released did _not _impress me at all!"

"Jax, Happy, Kip, and Bobby were simply relieved to see him hale and hearty after the serious injury he'd received! The only people who were disturbed by their behavior were a few professionals standing in the hallway, for cryin' out loud! They certainly were _not _disturbin' any recuperatin' patients!'

Margaret stared at her, amazed at the wealth of information the woman possessed. 'Who's been telling her all this? Dr. Knowles? That was _not _ common knowledge!' Margaret continued to stare at the woman, whose eye was bright with repressed outrage.

"Let's face it, lady!" Cat continued angrily. "The only thing you _want _to see about them is a bunch of uneducated Neanderthals in leather, unfit to be around so-called 'polite society'. In your way of thinkin', anyone who chooses to associate with them is automatically painted with the same brush, whether deserved or not. In my mind, that makes you as much of a close-minded bigot as LOAN!"

Margaret reared back in her chair as if Cat had landed a physical blow. "How _dare _you speak to me like that!"

"How dare _you_, lady!" Cat snarled, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "How _dare_ you frighten a man physically weak from head injuries with relocation to another hospital, just because you wanted to? I had guaranteed payment!"

"I acted within my duties for the financial well being of this hospital! At the time, I had no tangible proof that such alternate payment existed!" Margaret replied in a huff.

"Bullshit!" Cat snarled. "All y'all had to do was call and ask, I'd have provided you with the bank account number! What the Hell is with it with this state, that all y'all can turn patients out without checkin' on alternate payment? You were a cold, sarcastic, uncaring bitch to Chibs because _you_ didn't wanthim here! You were afraid his presence would hurt your precious hospital's image! You're the reason Chibs had a setback!"

Margaret initially flinched at Cat's tirade, but she drew herself together to feistily defend herself, "Mr. Telford faked his symptoms. Dr. Knowles helped him do it. She had to have coached him! He's obviously too stupid to know how to fake symptoms without help!"

Cat smiled ferally. "Sounds to me like you're practicing medicine without a license, my dear. You don't know a damn thing about Chibs' background; and unless you have a medical degree hidden somewhere, you aren't qualified to make such a judgment!" Cat's eye narrowed as she continued icily, "Can you _prove_ Chibs' symptoms were faked? Did his doctor stipulate that as fact?"

Margaret didn't want to admit it, but under Cat's unwavering gaze, she eventually shook her head.

"I thought as much! Your opinion of Chibs' setback holds as much water as leaky sieve!" Cat sighed in tired triumph and lay back against the pillow, her meager store of energy exhausted by her vehement outburst. "People like you don't understand compassion or loyalty. Get the Hell out of my room, Miss Murphy, before I have security called on your ass!" She closed her eyes and considered asking for a pain pill. Every muscle in her body hurt.

Margaret remained rooted to her chair, surprised and shocked at the vitriol in the other woman's diatribe. "Well! I see that you have a lot in common with that Morrow slut! You're both a couple of hotheads!"

Cat sat up and threw her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet hit the floor and before Margaret knew it, she was imprisoned in her chair as Cat's hands gripped both arms of it. 'I'd like to wrap my hands around your scrawny throat, but need to use the chair to hold myself up!' Her knuckles were white from the force of her grip.

"Gemma and I do have a lot of similarities, but bein' sluts _ain't_ one of 'em. You do _not _want to get on my 'shit' list, Ms. Murphy. It's not a very nice place to be," Cat hissed softly. "If I were you, I'd be very careful about how you treat patients in the future. Some of them might not be inclined to accept your brand of bullyin'." She took a deep breath and surprised Margaret by letting out with a gusty bellow, "Stone Coyote, get your ass in here please!"

The door opened to admit a worried SAMPOR president. "Holy Shit, Puddy Cat! This _is _a quiet zone! What the fuck are you doin' outta bed?"

"Never mind that! Get this – person - outta here before I do somethin' to injure myself, or her, will ya?"

Stone Coyote motioned for Margaret to leave, holding the door with one hand. Cat raised herself painfully from the chair arms and limped back to the bed, leaning against it and fighting not to show how much she was hurting.

As Margaret moved to the door, Cat added a quiet warning, "Don't get any ideas of havin' me transferred to another hospital, _madam. _That claim I just made covers all my medical expenses, so you have no excuse to transfer me. The insurance company has already contacted the accounting department."

"Have a nice day, Ma'am," Stone Coyote added in a dismissive, but gentlemanly manner.

Margaret glared at Cat, then stormed from the room and down the hall.

Cat closed her eyes in relief. "Jaysus! That woman would try Gawd's patience!" She pressed the call button and requested a pain pill from the nurse that answered.

"Can you get one for me too?" Stone Coyote asked teasingly. "She's quite a headache, ain't she?"

"I was thinkin' that she's a pain in the ass!"

As soon as Clay gave him leave to go back to Charming, Tig wasted in no time in racing away. 'I owe ya one, Clay.' The ongoing phone silence worried him more than he wanted to admit.

Clay, having a little more experience at the marriage gig than Tig, knew what was on his friend's mind. 'If I've gotta be without him, better now than later, when it's gonna be harder for us to be without him. His first obligation might be to us, but there's no way in Hell I'd make him stay away from her if she's taken a bad turn.'

Clay watched the Dyna's taillights disappear over a ridge. 'I might be down a man with Chibs going after Fiona; Happy and his nomads make up the difference. For now.' He sent a silent plea that all be all right at the hospital.

Tig pushed his Dyna well up over 70 mph on the straightaways, glowering at the curves that forced him to slow down. Each mile passed in agonizing slowness to him. 'I don't understand the reason for the silence. I asked 'em to call me every hour, let me know how she's doin'. It's not that hard to leave a fuckin' message! For all I know, she could've had a setback while I'm on the opposite side of the county!'

The two-way was turned off; a cold, lifeless lump in his jeans pocket. Its' companion was in a bag of possessions in Cat's hospital room closet. The two-way had become as much a part of him as his Harley, his knife, and his cut.

Tig had instructed Stone Coyote to call the pre-pay every hour. He knew the charter had the number. So did Frosty. Cat knew the number by heart. 'So why haven't any of 'em called, dammit?'

Tig's scowl grew more intense when he crossed the Charming city limits and had to to reduce speed even further. His bike roared as if it also protested the speed reduction. 'I know how ya feel, man,' he commiserated, keeping the bike's speed barely within the posted limit. 'we don't need the cops' attention. Gettin' stopped would just make it take longer to get to her!'

He exhaled a sigh of relief to reach the hospital parking lot without police interference, and parked his bike next to Stone Coyote's. He dropped his helmet on his bike and raced into the front entrance, taking the stairs two at a time to Cat's room. His hand on the door was hesitant, he wasn't sure _what _he was going to find when he passed through the doorway. He took a deep breath, walked inside, and let it out again.

His lady was lying in bed, sound asleep, and Stone Coyote was watching television. 'Shit! I'm layin' down the law! My nerves ain't gonna take it!'

Margaret stormed into the back entrance of her office, still seething from her encounter with Cat Marshall. She'd come away from it with no better understanding of why she and Tara Knowles chose to be with thugs than she had before. The only thing she'd gained was the coffeehouse owner's ire.

'They're just a pair of sluts! I've heard how clubs treat women, passing them from one man to the next. Oh, they may have a man _claiming _to be their main man, but I've seen the documentaries, I know they have to service the whole club!' She seethed dismissively. "There should still be morals clauses in physician's contracts to govern their off-duty behavior. As for that coffeehouse owner, if I can find a way to turn the town against her, I will!'

The clicking of keys in the front of the office alerted her to someone's presence. Due to the lack of office space for physicians, it wasn't unusual for many of them to transfer their chart notes on a separate computer set up in her office for that purpose. As she strode past the copy machine, she saw Tara Knowles setting at the desk.

Margaret's eyebrows arose in inquiry. She knew from hospital gossip that the Sons had everyone near and dear to them - except the coffeehouse owner - under lock down at the garage/clubhouse. She was surprised to see Tara in the building. 'She's certainly not properly attired for a hospital! She looks like a whore!'

Tara looked up and quietly announced she was updating her charts, a job Margaret knew should have been attended to much earlier. She fired a stinging reminder at the physician, which was met with a quiet affirmation.

Tara's refusal to rise to the bait was every bit as galling as the dressing down Margaret had received from Cat Marshall. Margaret could bully Dr. Knowles, and saw a chance to get a measure of satisfaction at the doctor's expense.

Margaret crossed her arms and stared down on the physician, whose back was still turned to her. Margaret's voice oozed haughty contempt as she tossed a poisoned barb about the upcoming inquiry at Tara. 'I'll have her out of my hair next week!' she gloated.

Instead of ignoring the taunt, Tara turned to face Margaret, quietly stating her pity for the administrator's inability to go after a degree and using her small amount of power to make it difficult for true healers to help those in need.

Dr. Knowles quiet assessment stung. 'How _dare _she have the gall to pity me? Bitch!' Margaret sneered a scathing remark about Gemma Morrow in retaliation. 'That'll show her!'

Tara leapt to her feet and pushed Margaret up against the metal bookshelf, holding a hand against her throat. Tara snarled over Margaret's ignorance of the facts about Gemma and turned away, already feeling sick from her angry reaction. 'I'd better get out of here before I do something worse.'

Margaret wasn't wise enough to leave well enough alone, complaining that she'd been assaulted and intended to call security. 'She's through here if I have anything to say about it, and I do!'

That was the last straw for Tara. 'If the bitch is gonna push it, I might as well go all the way and teach her what assault really is!' Tara pushed Margaret back against the metal bookcase again, this time hard enough to knock the woman's glasses from her face. Margaret stared at her in shock, then Tara threw a solid right hook that caught Margaret on the face and knocked her towards the seat of the overstuffed office chair.

Tara stepped over Margaret, locked the door, then hauled her up against the metal bookcase again, quietly reminding her of the power the Sons carried in the town. She turned away, drew her .38 from her purse and expertly twirled the barrel, displaying the bullets inside. She returned the gun to the confines of her purse then coldly suggested Margaret reconsider the inquiry into Chibs' setback before striding past Margaret and leaving the office.

Despite herself, Margaret gave a little gasp of fear as Tara walked past her. Margaret stared after her until she was sure she was alone, then she locked the door again and stumbled to her desk chair, cradling her head in her arms and indulging in a good old fashioned cry.

Duke Weston was scared, more so than he could ever recall feeling in his short six years. More frightened than the day he'd watched his brother, Cliffy, point and fire a gun directly into a blond man that had entered their home a few days ago.

That day had marked a major change in his life. Child Protective Services had been called to take the two boys away from their home and their father. A Charming police officer who had accompanied the blond man had discovered the boys had been left all alone.

He sat by himself in a playroom, surrounded by other children. He'd not been allowed to call his father and he hadn't seen Cliff since they'd arrived at the facility. Duke had overheard the staff talking about Cliff having an evaluation. He wasn't sure what an evaluation was, but he had a feeling it wasn't a good thing.

His mind kept returning to that afternoon. He could see the events as clearly as when they happened. 'I wonder if I'll ever see my Daddy again,' he thought forlornly.

That morning, the babysitter hadn't arrived by the time AJ Weston had been ready to leave. He'd called the sitter's telephone number several times, but received no answer.

AJ had given each boy a hug and kiss goodbye as usual. "Cliff will be in charge until she gets here," his father reminded him. "I can't wait around any longer. You two can get along until she gets here, right?"

"Sure, Dad! It's not like we'll be alone all day!" Cliff replied.

Duke wasn't quite as certain, but he didn't want to give his brother another reason to call his a 'wuss' for disagreeing. He nodded as enthusiastically as he could.

Weston smiled and kissed each boy on the forehead. "That's my boys. I love you."

They had watched television and played outside after their father left. As the day grew later, Cliff had called the sitter several more times, only to get no answer.

"Maybe we should call Dad. Something must've happened to her."

"We don't need that bitch! I can watch out for both of us!" Cliff snarled. "Don't be such a wimp!" After that brief conversation, Cliff had kept an eagle eye on his brother, and didn't allow him near the phone.

At lunchtime, Cliff opened a can of ravioli and heated it in the microwave. Duke was still upset that they'd been left alone. With Cliff keeping him away from the phone, he'd hoped their father would call to check in on them. Apparently his duties had been too pressing; he'd not called since he'd left. Cliff left messages to advise their father they were OK, but didn't mention the sitter had never shown up.

Late that afternoon, the two boys heard the roar of engines coming up the lane and suddenly cut out. That was enough to put Cliff on edge. They lived far out of town on a deserted road far away from the highway. Random visitors were unheard of. Their father preferred it that way. "Makes it easier to know if someone is trying to sneak up on us," AJ had explained.

"Go into the bedroom! Stay low!" Cliff had ordered him. Duke knew to do what Cliff said in a situation like this. The sudden quiet after the noise of the engines might not mean anything suspicious, but their father had taught them to be prepared.

Cliff moved quietly into his father's bedroom, and removed a handgun that Weston kept in a nightstand drawer. There was no lock on the handgun and it was loaded. Cliff held the gun as his father had taught him and crept into the bedroom he shared with his brother.

Duke was huddled on the bottom bunk, holding a pillow in front of him. 'As if that will protect you!' Cliff thought derisively. He stood in the center of the bedroom, the gun raised and ready.

A few moments after hearing the engines stop, they heard a knock at the door. Cliff motioned for his brother to stay silent.

"AJ Weston! Charming Police!" A male voice shouted.

Duke lay shivering behind the pillow. Cliff moved quietly from the bedroom to the drawn curtains beside the front door. He moved the curtain just enough to peek outside. 'One cop and some blond guy in a plaid shirt.' He moved stealthily back into the bedroom, poised and ready if he had to go on the defensive.

They heard sounds of the back door lock turning. They knew it wasn't their father. He always used the front door. 'One of those assholes is breaking in!' Cliff snarled to himself. 'That does it!' He moved to the bedroom door and slammed it closed. 'That'll flush 'im out!' He held the gun high and steady, his heart racing. 'This is what Daddy trained me to do, protect my home from intruders. Whoever this asshole is, he's gonna be sorry he was born!'

Cliff strained his ears, listening for footsteps. 'Not a very good outsdoorsman! He's making way too much noise!' he thought triumphantly. He listened to the footsteps nearing the bedroom. When he thought the intruder was in front of the door, he fired two shots through it.

Duke huddled against the wall, wishing he could burrow into it. He jerked in response to the two shots his brother fired. The bedroom door flew open, but there was no sign of a body on the floor. 'Cliff missed!' Duke thought with relief.

They heard the intruder take a couple of deep breaths. As they watched, a blond head appeared in the mirror across from their bedroom door. They heard the blond petition God's son when he saw Cliff's reflection in the mirror.

Cliff still stood in the middle of the bedroom, the gun held steady with one hand. The blond shouted assurances that he wasn't going to hurt them, he was a friend of their father's.

'I'll bet!' Cliff snarled inwardly, demanding the blond prove his friendship by showing them his tattoos. The blond requested they both lay down their guns and he'd show them his ink. The man's gun appeared on the floor in front of the open bedroom door.

A few heartbeats later, Cliff squatted to lay down his gun and the blond stepped into the room, arms outstretched. All Hell broke loose as gunfire erupted from outside the house and bullets poured into the house, tearing into the wood paneling and destroying various knickknacks.

The blond leaped into the bedroom, covering Cliff with his own body while Cliff cried out a denial. 'I'll kill 'em all!' he thought, squirming to get free. The blond was larger and stronger than him. The blond screamed that there were kids in the house, as if he knew who was firing. The gunshots continued blazing.

Duke heard the front door give and watched as a police officer and an older man with his hair in a pony tail appeared in the doorway. The cop yelled out an order to whoever was outside to cease fire.

The gunfire ended as quickly as it began. The blond raised himself onto his knees, letting Cliff up. Cliff screamed in rage, he'd never let go of the gun when the blond had covered him. In his anger at the blonde's apparent betrayal, Cliff stuck it in the man's stomach and pulled the trigger.

Duke closed his eyes, waiting to feel the spray of blood and guts. To his relief, the trigger clicked twice. There hadn't been a full load in the gun.

The blond wrestled the gun from Cliff and threw him onto the bunk in front of Duke, demanding to know where their father was. Cliff screamed in defiance as the Charming police officer entered the room. In a further show of defiance, Cliff spit on the blond who'd just possibly saved his life.

The blond turned in disgust from Cliff and snarled at the officer to have "the little psychopath locked up," before he strode from the room.

Duke was certain that comment didn't bode well for Cliff. The officer looked from Cliff to Duke, then spoke into the microphone attached to his shoulder.

Cliff continued to glare defiantly at the police officer. The officer barked a demand for Cliff to come with him. Cliff refused and was hauled to his feet by the officer.

Duke lay against the wall, still shivering behind the pillow. The officer just looked at him and waited for him to obey his command to get up. Duke slowly inched to the side of the bed and stood up, leaving the pillow behind him.

The officer nodded at him, not praising him for complying. The officer still had a firm grip on Cliff's arm.

Duke looked at the pieces of broken glass and splinters of wood all over the bedroom floor. 'Daddy is not gonna be happy about this!' He looked at Cliff, standing and sneering defiantly at the policeman. He glanced past the pair into the outer room of the house, where he saw a group of men dressed in black and wearing sunglasses milling around.

As Duke watched, the black garbed men took their leave of the house, taking AJ's laptop computer with them. The officer escorted the two boys into the living room and commanded them to sit on the sofa. Neither moved until another adult, a black man clad in business like attire, came into the room and spoke with them.

"Hi. I'm Mark. Don't be scared, I'm here to take you someplace safe."

'What could be safer than my own home?' Duke wondered. 'Everything was OK until those men showed up.' Duke shook his head in denial.

"Is there anything you want to take with you?" Mark asked. "A toy or a stuffed animal or something?"

"Can I call my Daddy?" Duke asked.

Mark shook his head. "I'm afraid not right now. Maybe later." While the police officer watched them, Mark packed a bag of clothing for both boys.

Cliff was mad and letting everyone know it. He punched, kicked, and spit at anyone who came near him. The two uniformed officers who had arrived with Mark had to restrain Cliff's arms and legs with plastic ties and bodily haul him to the caseworker's car.

Duke walked out on his own two feet with a heavy heart. 'I may never see my home or my Daddy again.'

Mark made sure both boys were safely strapped in, then started his car. The CPD officers secured the house as best they could. The last thing Duke saw as the car pulled away was the front door of his house being closed and locked. Mark attempted to talk with them during the ride, but that was difficult with Cliff screaming epithets at him. Eventually, Mark gave up and the ride continued in silence, broken only by Cliff's tirade.

Once they arrived at CPS, the two boys were separated. Cliff was taken for 'evaluation' while Duke was taken to the general population area. There were other children there of different sexes and races. He stayed to himself in a corner, miserable and lonely. It was difficult for him to eat supper; all he could do was push the food around his plate.

When it came time to go to bed, and there had still been no contact with his father or his brother, Duke felt abandoned. His sleep was fitful. He worried about Cliff, and he worried what his father would do when he came home and found them missing. 'He'll get really upset when he sees the bullet holes in the walls and windows. It'll be worse when he finds we're not there. I can't trust the police to tell him where we went.'

For as long as he could remember, his father had drummed into him that the police were not to be trusted. "They don't understand our beliefs. They consider us beneath them. Never tell the police anything, they'll twist whatever you say."

Duke extended his father's declaration to the caseworkers and other adults at the facility. He gave no answers to any questions put to him. His only response was to sit quietly and keep his eyes from meeting anyone else's. 'When will this nightmare come to an end?'

AJ Weston was tired but elated. Zobelle's plan to entrap the Sons of Anarchy at the MCC had worked like a charm. They had both escaped, though Weston's shots had missed the bikers.

He returned home after ferrying Zobelle to his domicile to find the house dark. 'It's not late enough for the boys to be in bed. Where's the sitter's car?' He'd checked his cellphone for messages on the way back from the MCC, but there had been none since early afternoon. 'The sitter would've called if they were going out to eat or something.'

He drew his gun and walked carefully to the house, his ears alert for anything out of the ordinary. It was quiet. Too quiet. Something hard and round crunched underfoot. He bent over and felt around. His fingers closed around something hard and metallic. He raised it to his eyes and in the dim security light saw that it was a spent shell.

Fear for his boys rose like bile in his throat. He moved quietly and quickly to the house, listening for danger. It was eerily silent. As he neared the door, he saw an official looking CPD business card stuck in it.

'What the fuck?' He took the card down and walked into the house, glass crunching under his feet. He turned on the light and read the back of the card, which only held a phone number and David Hale's name.

Weston pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number.

"Deputy Chief Hale speaking."

"Weston. Where the Hell are my boys!"

"Kind of late for you to be calling about them," Hale remarked, noting the hour on his watch. "They're at CPS. You left your boys alone in the house with a loaded gun. They were alone for hours."

"Their sitter never showed?"

Hale winced at the surprise in Weston's voice. "Apparently not. When I came out to talk to you about the fire bombing at Teller – Morrow, your son opened fire on Jax Teller."

"What the fuck was Teller doing with you?" Weston snarled angrily.

"Special assistance."

"I want to see my boys!" AJ cried.

"That's not happening tonight. Your oldest is being evaluated. He's quite a little Aryan militant. CPS will be in contact with you in the morning." Hale hung up before Weston could reply. 'You'll be lucky to get supervised visitation with them!'

"Shit!" Weston wanted to throw something. He wanted to kick Jax Teller's ass. 'The Sons know we planted that fire bomb. This is part of their revenge on us! I thought they didn't hurt children! My boys are innocent in this!'

He dialed Zobelle's number next and explained the situation as soon as Zobelle answered. To his surprise, the man he trusted and looked up to refused to intervene.

"This is not a LOAN matter, AJ," Weston intoned. "I am sorry that your children have been removed from your custody, but that had nothing to do with LOAN. There is nothing that I can do."

"That's bullshit! You know damn good and well that the Sons were looking for us about that fire bomb! Jax Teller was here! That's why my boys were taken away!"

"You are thinking like a father, AJ. That is understandable. You are _not_ thinking like a member of the League. Anyone not emotionally involved in the situation would see that this is not a League matter. I cannot involve the higher echelon in this matter at this time. I _am_ sympathetic to your situation, do not misunderstand that." The line went dead in Weston's ear.

'No, asshole. You _won't_ do it. There's a difference!' AJ thought in wounded surprise. He was beginning to wonder if Zobelle was as dedicated to The Cause as he appeared. Certain instances were pointing to the contrary. His refusal to help with AJ's problem only added to his doubts. 'Did you tell the sitter not to come today? Is that why she didn't answer the phone? Maybe I shouldn't have taken your recommendation for her!'

Weston drove to a friend's house, and spent the remainder of the night drinking and berating Zobelle and CPD for the loss of his boys. The friend agreed that Zobelle would require watching, but with him being part of LOAN hierarchy, there was nothing they could do to help AJ get his boys back. It wasn't until the wee small hours of the morning that Weston finally fell in a drunken slumber.

Tara stormed from Margaret's office, feeling more empowered than she had in some time where her dealings with the hospital administrator were concerned. She shook her stinging hand. 'Gemma might be rubbing off on me, but that sure did feel good!'

Behind the office door, Margaret remained against the steel bookcase where Tara had shoved her, gasping and crying from being choked and slugged. What frightened her more than the physical violence was the gun Tara had non - nonchalantly waved around after warning her what SAMCRO could do to her and her family. Fear had paralyzed her as a deeply buried memory roared to be let free from its' long confinement.

For all the elation Tara felt at finally getting back at the snotty administrator, she also felt a sense of shame for giving in to her baser instincts. 'I can't go around town slinging my fist – or anything else – into someone's face when they upset me! How the Hell does Cat manage it? _She _has a temper, but she's never thrown a punch at anyone!'

Tara had time before she had to meet Gemma; there was no rule against paying a visit to a friend while on hospital suspension. 'Don't know if Cat really considers me a friend, but we _did _joke about an 'old ladies' support group once!'

Tara took the stairs to the critical care unit and walked casually to Cat's room. She knew from the lock down that the Portland charter was guarding her while Tig away on club business. She knocked on the door and waited for the charter to respond. 'Since I'm not on the clock, best not to act like a medical person.'

GreyRider opened the door and immediately recognized Jax Teller's old lady. "Hi, Doc. You hear to check on Cat?"

"Yes, but not in an official capacity. I just happened to be in the building while Gemma's running some errands, thought I'd stop in. How is she feeling?"

GreyRider opened the door wider in welcome. "She won't admit it, but she still feels like a truck hit her. She's had a bit of a busy afternoon, but I'm sure she'd welcome the presence of another woman to balance things out."

Tara stepped into the room, curious about GreyRider's comment. Comprehension dawned when she found the presence of another man in the room. He was sitting on the other side of the bed next to the far wall.

"Hey, Tara!" Cat called out. "This is my friend from Indiana by way of LA, Frosty Still. Tig met him at the reunion we went to earlier this year. Frosty, Dr. Tara Knowles, one of the staff doctors and a friend of the club."

Tara nodded cordially, acknowledging Cat's tactful description of their relationships. She ran a professional eye over Tig's woman, noting her pale color, the oxygen tube resting under her nose, and the other tube that peeked from under the bed coverings. "Lung collapse?"

"Yeah," Cat replied indifferently, shooting a significant look at GreyRider, which he acknowledged with a shrug. "_Please _don't say anything to Tig about it before the thing at Timberland. I hate to put you in such a spot - "

Tara held up a hand. "It's becoming standard operating procedure in treating the club – both the men and women!" she replied. "Besides, I happen to understand why you don't want Tig knowing about this before the fight."

"I don't, though Cat's just about worn herself out explaining it to me!" Frosty grumbled.

Cat sighed in resignation. 'This is gettin' to be an on-goin' battle today. I'll be glad when it's safe to tell all!' She could empathize with Tara's situation of having to keep distressing news from her man. "Poor kid! We 'older ladies' have really been relying heavily on your discretion these days!"

"Better not let Gemma hear you refer to her as an 'older lady'," Tara warned.

"Yeah, she might bash me with a skateboard!"

Tara started to giggle while Cat smiled at the memory of Gemma's attack on Cherry when the former Nevada crow eater had followed the guys to Charming. Gemma thought the girl was after Clay and whacked her with a skateboard. It turned out Cherry was smitten with Half – Sack.

"Thanks, Cat. I really needed that," Tara replied a few moments later, once her fit of giggles had subsided. "Do you feel up to a chat?"

"Oh, no! Girl talk!" GreyRider moaned. "Do I hafta listen to it?" Frosty looked a little edgy at the idea as well.

Cat smiled evilly. "Hmmm. What do you think Tara, should we be nice to the men?"

Tara returned the grin. 'This light banter is just what this doctor ordered.' She cast a measuring eye on the Portland rider and the civilian. Both were cringing. "Why not? I think I can handle anything that might try to upset you," she replied, lifting her revolver from the confines of her bag.

"Damn!" Frosty yelped. "Does everybody pack iron in this town?"

Cat silenced him with a reassuring hand clasp. "Just those of us who feel it's necessary, darlin'," Cat laughed. "Go on with the two of ya, have yourselves a little break and give us girls some privacy. We'll be fine."

GreyRider scurried to the door. "Just as long as you two don't try to act out 'Thelma and Louise' while we're gone!" he admonished them.

"Keep that damn insurance administrator away and we'll be fine!" Cat waved both men from the room with a 'shooing' gesture. When the door closed behind them, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for the hospital provided robe, shrugging her arms into it and closing it around her.

"Wanna take a walk with me?"

"Sure," Tara replied, slinging her purse over her shoulder and opening the door. "I was hoping that you'd be moving about. I know it hurts, especially so soon after being hurt. Just don't over do."

Cat shook her head. "I just go down the hall and back every couple of hours. Anything more wears me out. This is the first venture I've made since the lung collapsed earlier."

"Care to tell me how it happened?"

"Nope."

"Fair enough."

They walked in silence down the hall and back to the room. Cat was grimacing with discomfort, panting and sweating by the time they returned to her room.

"Want something for pain?" Tara asked in concern.

"Nah. Just wanna sit and rest a bit," Cat panted tiredly, slumping into the chair nearest the bed. She winced as she got herself comfortably settled.

Tara remained standing, her eyes taking in the room. She glanced at the turned off television, the vases of flowers, and finally back at the patient in the chair.

"Out with it, Tara. What's buggin' ya besides the guys goin' after Weston and Zobelle?" Cat asked quietly.

Tara sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. "I might've just signed my own pink slip by pulling something stupid."

Tara fell silent again, as if trying to decide whether to tell all. Cat gently prodded her. "What did you do?"

Her decision made, Tara replied, "Smacked the taste out of Margaret Murphy's mouth after choking her for calling Gemma a 'biker whore'. Then, just for good measure, I threatened to sic the Sons on her and brandished my gun. All that after I slammed her against a bookcase."

"Day - um, girl! What the Hell did she do to piss you off, besides exist?" Cat exclaimed. Though teasing, her voice held awe and respect for the usually mild mannered physician.

Tara didn't share her delight. Hearing herself describe what she'd done to the administrator made her feel ashamed of herself. 'I'm supposed to be a healer! Why did I let my temper blow like that?'

"It's obvious you don't feel too good about strikin' out against your tormentor, Tara. That shows you're a good person. Margaret Murphy is a royal pain in the ass and a bitch. She got what she was askin' for."

"You talk as if you've had contact with her."

"GreyRider wasn't kiddin' when he said I've had a busy day. Miss Margaret paid a visit this mornin', while Stone Coyote was here. She doesn't hold a very high opinion of the Sons, or of the relationship you and I have chosen to have with our men."

Tara nodded miserably, her eyes glistening at the predicament she'd put herself in. "I'm on suspension pending a hearing on Chibs' setback. She thinks I masterminded it. For all I know, she could be in the Chief of Staff's office, demanding my dismissal for violating the Code of Business Conduct! Guess I really dug my own grave, didn't I?"

Cat's hand went to the bridge of her nose in a perfect imitation of Tig's habitual gesture. "Well, it's a deep hole, but it's not so deep y'all can't climb out of it. How long ago did your fracas with Margy take place?"

"Just before I came to see you," Tara replied. "Why?"

"Well, the good news is that we haven't heard your name paged over the intercom, and security hasn't busted down my door to remove y'all from the premises. There may be a chance to save y'all's bacon from the fire."

"I don't see how anything can save my career!" Tara wailed.

Cat grinned at her. "Honey, watch and learn! It's time for me to have a talk with your Chief of Staff about Miss Margaret. Her attitude's spread to some of the medical staff; I had to get a CNA reassigned due to her rude attitude to me and Tig and the charters. While the head nurse and floor supervisor _say_ they'd send my concerns up the heir achy, there's no time to wait for that to happen."

Tara shook her head. "I don't know what good it will do."

"It can't make things any worse!" Cat exclaimed. "Look, hon, she interfered with Chibs' recovery that _I_ paid for. That's reason enough for me to talk to the man. If she's gonna dish it out, she's gonna need to be ready to take a little of it right back!" Cat glared at Tara and added, "Are you gonna help me, or do I have to do this on my own?"

"Wait here. I'll get a wheelchair," Tara replied resignedly, though a small flicker of hope lifted her spirit. She returned to the room with a wheelchair and helped Cat settle into it.

In the short time she'd been alone, Cat had made herself presentable and managed to scribble a note to the men. Tara put a blanket over Cat's legs and hooked up a portable oxygen unit to the back of the wheelchair.

"Let's roll, Kato!" Cat pointed at the door, which Tara had propped open. With a laugh, Tara pushed her through the door and out into the hallway.

They stopped by the nurses' station so Tara could leave word with the duty nurses. "There is a black haired gentleman who's been visiting with Ms. Marshall today, along with a rider from the local club. I'm taking Ms. Marshall out of her room for awhile for a change of scenery. Please let the men know if they get back before we return."

"Yes, Doctor," the nurse replied crisply, noting Tara's request on a pad.

Tara turned the wheelchair around and pushed Cat to the elevator. They traveled in silence to the main floor, then Tara pushed her across the lobby towards the administrative offices.

"We're not gonna pass Miss Margy's office, are we?"

Tara laid a comforting hand on the other woman's shoulder. "No. I know another way 'round. We shouldn't cross paths with her." Tara was grateful that Cat's back was turned and she couldn't see her glance beseechingly to the heavens. 'I hope.'

The Heavens must've been in a giving mood, as Tara's mute plea was affirmatively answered. The pair managed to reach the office suite without meeting with the hospital administrator. The Chief of Staff's office was set up like any other office suite, with carpeting on the floor and a large work desk sitting to one side of the large wooden door marked with his name and title. Other comfortable chairs, tables, and a large plant occupied the space.

"What can I do for you, Dr. Knowles?" The red headed receptionist, Ms. Barton, inquired in a pleasant manner.

"Is Dr. Barry in his office? This patient has an urgent matter she needs to discuss with him." Tara responded in her crisp physician's voice. "I told Ms. Marshall that he doesn't usually see people on a drop – in basis, but she's one insistent lady -"

"What she's tryin' _not _to say is that I'm a bit of a pushy broad, and was gonna bring myself down here come Hell or high water!" Cat interjected with a grin. "I'd like to speak with him about the way a friend of mine was treated by the hospital administrator while he was a patient. I guaranteed payment for his treatment, a fact that she ignored."

'Ah! The Telford case!' Ms. Barton smiled. "Dr. Barry is in, and I think he could spare a moment for you, Ms. Marshall!" She picked up the phone and dialed an extension. "Ms. Marshall, the coffeehouse owner and one of our critical care patients is here to see you. . .Yes sir, immediately."

Ms. Barton rose and walked behind the wheelchair to take the handles from Tara. "If you'll have a seat, Dr. Knowles, I'll assist Ms. Marshall from here." She gave the doctor a conspiratorial wink as she pushed Cat through the door that Dr. Barry personally held open for them.

Margaret raised her head from her arms that had been crossed on her desktop. Of all the people she'd upset in her lifetime, the_ last _person she expected to hit her was Tara Knowles. 'A slap by itself I could've handled. The absolute hatred in her eyes was so frightening!'

She rose from her chair, where she'd fallen after Dr. Knowles left her office and her legs refused to hold her upright. The office looked the same, there was nothing to show there had been any kind of uproar except for the marks on her face. She picked up her glasses from the floor near the metal bookcase, relieved that they were intact.

She stumbled to the small bathroom, shutting the door and locking it behind her. The light briefly dazzled her eyes. Once her sight adjusted, she crossed to the sink and ran cold water in it, reaching across to grab a handful of paper towels. She looked at her reflection in the mirror as she cleaned her face, looking over her injuries.

'It could've been worse,' she dabbed the wet, cold towels against her face. There was a small cut on her lower lip. Most of the blood had come out of her nose, but she didn't think it was broken. 'Easily covered over by makeup for now, and easily removed when I file a complaint with Dr. Barry. She violated the Code of Business Conduct! I can definitely have her fired and maybe put these ghosts behind me once and for all!'

Margaret finished cleaning her face and returned to her desk, removing her compact from her purse. She applied powder and a light bit of lipstick, then left her office, heading determinedly to the Chief of Staff's office.

Ms. Barton rolled Cat into her boss's office, right to a comfortable sofa where she could recline and speak with the doctor. Pillows were placed against one arm of the sofa, facing an overstuffed arm chair where Dr. Barry would sit.

Once the wheelchair was locked, Dr. Barry himself assisted Cat to the sofa, tucking the blanket around her legs and hips after checking to insure the tube re inflating her lung was still in place and free from obstruction. "Would you like something to drink, Ms. Marshall? Ginger Ale?"

'Someone's been doin' his homework!' she smiled wryly. "Yes, please."

"Black coffee for you, Dr. Barry?" Ms. Barton inquired.

"Please." He settled in the arm chair, crossed his legs and stared intently at his visitor. "It's not every day, Ms. Marshall, that one of my critical care patients comes to see me. I usually stop by to see them. My apologies for not coming around sooner."

"That's all right. I felt coming to you would lend a little more credibility than trying to converse on a busy hospital floor."

Ms. Barton returned with the drinks, served them, and quietly departed, shutting the door behind her.

She cast a reassuring smile at Dr. Knowles. "Dr. Barry's been aware of certain events with the Telford case for some time, Doctor. It'll all work out."

'I'll believe it when I see it,' Tara smiled bleakly at the secretary's assurance. She found a seat far from the woman's desk and curled up in it. A plant shielded her from the sight of the pedestrians in the hallway.

Inside the Chief of Staff's office, Cat sipped at the ginger ale while Dr. Barry sipped his coffee. "So, Ms. Marshall, what can I do for you?"

"It's not so much what you can do for me, but more about what's goin' on in your hospital."

Dr. Barry sat back in his chair, his face showed no emotion, but remained open and interested. "I'm listening."

"You're familiar with the Filip Telford case?"

Dr. Barry nodded. "He was brought in with a severe head injury after a vehicle exploded at Teller – Morrow."

Cat nodded, sipping more of the ginger ale. "That's the basics. Mr. Telford – Chibs - is a dear friend of mine and of my boyfriend, Tig Trager. Both gentlemen are members of the local motorcycle club, the Sons of Anarchy."

"I'm familiar with them," the Chief of Staff replied. He was very familiar with the Sons. The club had held a few benefit runs for the hospital in the past. He was also aware of their less than sterling reputation, but considered the good they did far outweighed the bad.

"Unfortunately, Chibs couldn't afford his employer - provided insurance. I had set up a fund for the club's medical expenses that weren't covered by insurance before Chibs was injured. I set it up after Tig was injured on a charity ride and was refused treatment by the local hospital because he only had basic coverage."

"I recall seeing that payment information in Mr. Telford's file. You _are_ aware that there is a pending complaint against Dr. Tara Knowles in this case?"

Cat met the physician's gaze with her good eye.

"I just became aware of it, Dr. Barry. That's part of the reason that I've come to you. I have some information that I feel is pertinent to the case. May I share it with you?"

He nodded assent. "I can't guarantee that I can use it," he added.

"Fair enough. Chibs originally came from Ireland. As I'm sure you're aware, Ireland has been a hotbed of civil unrest for decades. He has military experience as a medic, and often tends the minor wounds the club sustains. Y'know, road rash, cuts and scrapes from bar fights, stuff like that."

Dr. Barry smiled knowingly. 'Somehow I suspect he handles more than that, but I won't press the matter.' He nodded, wordlessly encouraging her to continue.

"I signed the financial responsibility forms for Chibs the night he was injured. Your hospital's administrator, Margaret Murphy, confronted Chibs just after he was upgraded from critical condition and told him he was being moved to another hospital across the county. Chibs got upset; _I_ had told him not to worry because the fund had him covered. He couldn't reach me, got scared, and faked symptoms. He did so without help or coaching from anyone."

Dr. Barry watched Cat as she spoke, looking for any signs that she was embellishing the story or dissembling. What he saw was her earnest care and concern for a friend, and her aggravation at having someone undo what she'd tried to do to help him. "But why bring this to me?"

Margaret stormed purposefully through the administrative wing, heading directly for the Chief of Staff's office.

'Once he learns of the assault, Dr. Barry will fire her! She'll never be able to work in a hospital again with an assault on her work record!' Margaret's smile was hard and cold as she came to a stop in front of Ms. Barton's desk. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, drumming the fingers of one hand against her arm, waiting for the administrative assistant to complete her phone call.

Ms. Barton ended the call, replacing the receiver on the cradle of her desk phone. She looked up expectantly at Margaret. "How can I help you, Ms. Murphy?" Her voice was pleasant, though she felt her stomach souring at Margaret's presence.

"I need to speak with Dr. Barry immediately!"

"I'm afraid he's not available at this moment," Ms. Barton replied pleasantly. "He's in a meeting and requested not to be disturbed."

Margaret leaned on Ms. Barton's desk, her eyes hard and cold. "You don't understand. It's imperative that I speak with him!" She gazed expectantly at the phone, as if by sheer force of will, Ms. Barton would pick it up and announce Margaret's presence.

Though Tara felt slightly uncomfortable about eavesdropping, she listened in awe at the pleasant demeanor Ms. Barton displayed to the overbearing administrator. "At least I'm not the only one Margaret bullies!'

Ms. Barton continued to smile pleasantly, though the smile failed to reach her eyes. "I realize you believe the matter is of extreme importance, Ms. Murphy. Dr. Barry specifically requested he not be disturbed. I can have you paged as soon as he's available."

"And how soon would that be?"

Ms. Barton shrugged. "He didn't say."

"Can't you be more specific?"

"I'm afraid not, Ms. Murphy. You can always email him, but there's no guarantee that he'll have time to respond to it before the end of the day."

Margaret didn't like either option. 'I've got better things to do than cool my heels in this lobby! But I can't take a chance of not talking to him, either!' She drummed her fingers on Ms. Barton's desk in agitation while the administrative assistant looked on, the pleasant expression never leaving her face.

"Fine! I'll wait!" Margaret snarled, turning away from the other woman and taking a chair directly across from Ms. Barton's desk.

Ms. Barton smiled and glanced in Tara's direction. She couldn't see Dr. Knowles, but knew the younger woman had heard everything. She returned to her work, pretending to be unphased by Margaret's glare.

Cat shifted slightly on the couch, wiggling to get comfortable. "I believe that Ms. Murphy's hatred for the Sons has spread encouraged the medical staff to display their own antipathy to the Sons and anyone associated with them."

"You know of this first hand, I take it?"

She nodded. "I had to request a certified nursing assistant be reassigned due to her rude behavior to myself, my boyfriend, and other members of the club. When I questioned her on it, she said she didn't like the company I keep and that I could expect more of the same. There's no doubt in my mind that Ms. Murphy's open hatred for the Sons encouraged this CNA in her rude behavior."

"How do you know Ms. Murphy has a dislike for bikers?"

"Because she came to visit me earlier today, and it was _not_ a very pleasant meeting. It began with her questioning the presence of the guard from the charter club -" she broke off, wondering if she needed to explain the reason for the added security.

Dr. Barry acknowledged his understanding with a smile. "The Sons have, on occasion, provided their own security here. You're not the first person we've admitted who's required added guards. Frankly, the Sons are often _less_ obtrusive than the cops!"

Cat grinned. ' I wonder if the guys would appreciate hearin' that!' She sobered quickly, adding "Apparently, Ms. Murphy doesn't share that sentiment. Our conversation had nothing to do with her position as insurance administrator. She demanded I explain my relationship with Tig and Tara's with Jax Teller. She doesn't accept the idea that the Sons are _not _thugs. I finally asked her to get out of my room and had to resort to powerful persuasion to get her to leave."

Dr. Barry stifled a grin behind his coffee cup but when he spoke, his voice was grave. "I'm sorry to hear that, Ms. Marshall. You're right, that line of questioning was definitely _not _within the scope of her job. I apologize that she didn't behave in a professional manner." Dr. Barry frowned. 'I knew that Margaret has been giving Dr. Knowles a difficult time about dating the Teller lad; I had no idea just how bad things really were!'

"It was her behavior during her visit that made me realize the CNA's attitude mirrored hers. I'm also aware that the administrator has been bullyin' Dr. Knowles about her relationship with Jax. This bullyin' had been going on for some time until she pushed Dr. Knowles too far today. Tara fears she'll lose her job because of it."

The fingers of one hand went up to stroke his chin. "You realize, Ms. Marshall, that I cannot take hearsay into consideration on this matter."

Cat nodded. "Tara – Dr. Knowles – brought me down here. She came by to visit and told me what had happened, along with Ms. Murphy's filing a complaint about Tara bein' the one coachin' Chibs. She's waitin' outside if you'd like to talk to her."

'If Dr. Knowles was goaded, that is something I want to hear firsthand,' He nodded. "I shall speak with her, and with Ms. Murphy. I do _not_ like hearing that a patient has been treated rudely for **any** reason. I don't condone that kind of behavior. That's not the principles that this hospital was founded on."

He went to his desk and called Ms. Barton. "Is Dr. Knowles still in the lounge?"

"Yes, Doctor. Someone else is also waiting who says there is an urgent matter to discuss with you."

Though Ms. Barton's voice was pleasant, Dr. Barry knew that she wasn't happy.

'This is gonna be a very long day,' he winced. "Margaret can cool her heels awhile. Sorry about that, Sue."

"That's OK, Doctor,' she replied wryly. "I can handle it."

Dr. Barry grinned. "I know you will. Please send Dr. Knowles in."

Cat knew her interview with the Chief of Staff had come to an end. She gingerly moved from the couch to the wheelchair while he spoke with his assistant.

Dr. Barry turned from his desk, surprised to see that Cat had fended for herself, but impressed with her endurance. "I appreciate you bringing this to my attention, Ms. Marshall, especially given the nature and extent of your injuries."

Cat sighed tiredly, rolling herself to the door. "As long as everyone gets a fair shot. Thank you for givin' me time from your day, sir."

Dr. Barry held the door open for her, and she rolled herself out, passing Tara and giving the physician a slight, assuring nod. Tara walked into Dr. Barry's office while Cat rolled past a visibly fuming administrator.

"Ms. Murphy," she murmured in a dignified manner.

Margaret sniffed and turned away from Cat. Unbeknowst to Margaret, Dr. Barry had witnessed the administrator's treatment of the patient before he quietly closed the door to his office.

Ms. Barton got up from her desk and took the handles to Cat's wheelchair. "I'll help you back to your room, Ms. Marshall. You look worn out."

"I am. Wish I could be a fly on the wall in there when it's Miss Margaret's turn!"

Ms. Barton smiled. "You and me both, honey!"

Margaret wasn't used to having people stare and whisper behind her back as she passed; she was usually the one _doing _the staring and whispering about others. Her most recent victim had been Dr. Knowles, though other employees had found themselves on the receiving end of her bullying tactics.

'Hospitals are breeding grounds for gossip,' she glared at a group of nursing aides whispering and looking pointedly at her as she passed them. The entire hospital was buzzing over the news that Dr. Barry, the hospital's Chief of Staff, had ordered her to drop her complaint against Tara.

"You caused a patient to fake a setback by ignoring his alternate payment, arranging for his transfer out of this hospital, and confronting him with that transfer, knowing he would react negatively to it. Despite your oft publicly stated opinion to the contrary, Mr. Telford_ does_ have knowledge and experience that he put to good use! You have no proof that Dr. Knowles, or anyone else, coached him!"

"But – but -"

Dr. Barry interrupted her mercilessly, his expression as hard and cold as Margaret had behaved towards others in the past. "Your lack of professional behavior has encouraged our medical staff to display their own unprofessional attitudes towards certain patients! That is unconscionable _and_ unforgivable!" he roared. "I am _not_ pleased that you questioned a patient's choice in the man she has a relationship with, much less demanded that same patient to answer for a staff member! That is _none _of your business and not within the parameters of your job description!"

"You spoke with that biker's girlfriend, the one we have in critical care!" Margaret shot back. "She's the one that fed you a bunch of lies!"

"She told me what she experienced, not just at your hands, but by one of our own nursing staff!" he replied angrily. "Of course Ms. Marshall would be upset that you grilled her about her relationship with someone of her own choosing!"

"And for that, you expect me to drop my complaints against Dr. Knowles? Are you out of your mind?"

Dr. Barry glared coldly at the administrator. "You forget yourself, Margaret. _I_ am the Chief of Staff here! I've overlooked a lot of things, hoping you would straighten up and fly right. No longer! Gemma Morrow was_ not_ acting as Dr. Knowles' proxy when she spoke to you about Mr. Telford. She, too, was upset with your interference, and was acting on behalf of Mr. Telford!"

"What about this?" Margaret cried, using a tissue to remove her lipstick and makeup to reveal the injuries she'd received from Tara.

"You instigated that incident with your caustic comments about Gemma Morrow and taunting Dr. Knowles about the inquiry!" Dr. Barry acidly informed her. "You can't be both victim and instigator. Bullying, including verbal bullying, of employees is _also_ a violation of that Code of Business Conduct you're flouting. I'm not going to act against Dr. Knowles without acting against you."

Margaret had stared at him in surprise and dismay, but Dr. Barry wasn't finished with her. "As of now, you are to refrain from making public observations on our patients' and staffs' personal lives. _Your_ job is to verify insurance and ensure that we are complying with insurance regulations. Period."

'That damn bitch! I'll get her for this! She turned Dr. Barry against me!' She spat a cold snarl of "Yes, Doctor!" and angrily strode from his office, keeping her head high and shoulders straight.

'More of the staff support that slut Knowles than me! It's not fair!' She strode to her own office, not caring that anyone else saw the injuries to her face.

When she reached the safety of her office, she sat at her desk and gazed at the pictures of her family. There was one of her husband and children, flanked by a picture of her twin. 'There's a reason I don't like gangs. What happened to my sister is good enough reason not to like them.'

Margaret's thoughts returned to that long ago day in college, when her life was irrevocably changed. She had been attending medical school, her sister enrolled in art school on the same campus. Her sister had a tendency to be open and friendly to everyone, no matter what walk of Life that person followed.

One day, while walking back to her dormitory after a night class, her sister was accosted by members of a local street gang; a group of young adults and teens that roamed the streets at night, terrorizing the campus with petty burglaries and rapes.

'I begged her to make sure someone walked with her after that class, but she laughed at me off. Said it didn't matter, as the campus was well lit and patrolled. She didn't listen, and that bunch of jackals in leather used her for their own pleasure and killed her, just because they could! Tara and that Marshall whore expect me to accept their men with open arms when those men share the same mentality? Never! They might be fooled, but I'm not so easy!'

A grim, savage smile crossed her face as she lifted the phone and dialed the county health department. 'Let's see how that coffeehouse of hers fares under an unannounced inspection!'

Slick looked up at the sound of a knock on the door. 'What the Fuck? Who'd be visiting at this hour of the night? It's too early for Tig to be back from Timberland and it sure as Hell isn't the medical staff. They just walk in.'

He looked over at Cat, gratified that the sound hadn't disturbed her from her drug-induced slumber. Dr. Gallagher had told him she'd fought the sedative he'd ordered when the tube re inflating her lung came loose.

'It came loose because I tried to call Tig about her condition against her wishes!' He felt bad about causing more pain to Tig's woman, and had a feeling there was going to be some fallout from that. 'Nothin' I can do about it now. Might as well see who's at the door.'

Chief Unser stood at the door when Slick opened it. 'I'm here to talk to Cat about the wreck.'

Slick opened the door a little wider to allow Unser a better view. "She's not really able to talk right now, she had a medical setback earlier -"

"It's all right, Slick. I'm awake," Cat called sleepily. Her voice was a little hoarse from the sedative.

"You sure, Lady Cat? I can send him away if you aren't up to it."

"I'm sure. Let the man do his job, Slick," she replied, moving the bed into a reclining position.

Unser nodded at the Portland rider and stepped into the room. He'd not expected to see so many injuries on her, despite having been at the scene of the wreck. "Jesus Christ!" He winced at his thoughtless remark.

Cat smiled wryly. She knew her injuries had caught him off guard. "Trust me, Wayne, it feels as bad as it looks. Comin' to tell me bad news about the investigation I take it?"

Unser grimaced. "How'd you know?"

She shifted in the bed, grimacing at the twinge in her side. "I'm a former reporter, Wade," she replied. "You learn how to read people. The weight of your footsteps and your tone of voice said a lot. If you had good news, you wouldn't breathe and walk like you're carryin' the weight of the world on your shoulders."

Unser walked around the bed to sit in the chair Alex had sat vigil in and that Frosty had occupied earlier. "I'm sorry, Cat. We've hit a dead end. The truck rental was paid in cash. The clerks at the rental agency described the two men who paid; one fits Tig's description. They aren't in the mug shots. They used fake names and driver license numbers. There's nothing to tie them, the rental, or the accident to Weston."

She nodded slightly in acknowledgment. "There wasn't any paint transfer from my car on the rental, was there?"

Unser shook his head. "That red would stand out. There were bullets lodged in the back end, and the tire tracks where they gathered speed match the casts Lodi CSI took. Still not enough evidence for us to charge Weston, and without being able to ID the other two, no one else can be charged, either."

"I had a feelin' that was gonna be the case. I hear my PT is a total."

Unser nodded sadly.

"The insurance company's gonna be requestin' a copy of the police report. I'm takin' the uninsured hit and run route. It covers the car, a rental, and medical. It's quicker than filin' a liability claim with the rental agency that owns the truck."

"That's probably the best thing. Let the insurance companies fight it out. Do you remember much about the wreck, Cat?"

She shook her head. "It happened so damn fast. One minute, the light was green and there was no traffic comin' from either direction. The next minute, there's a blinding glare of light to my right, and I was nearly eatin' safety glass while the PT was huggin' a pole. I recall hearin' gun shots, must've been Tig tryin' to stop 'em. Don't understand why he didn't haul ass after 'em."

"You don't?" Slick interjected in surprise. "It's pretty evident to anyone with a brain, Lady Cat."

Cat glanced over at Slick, who'd resumed his seat to her left. "Considerin' the rattlin' my brain took last night, how about humorin' an old lady?"

"You were injured, possibly dying. Tig did the right thing in staying with you instead of going after the truck. True, if he'd chased after the driver, there'd be evidence to tie 'em to LOAN. You were more important. He wasn't gonna leave you to die all alone. Believe me, we'd all be more upset with him if he'd gone after them."

"So don't give him too hard a time about it, Cat," Unser added. "He wouldn't leave your side when the rescue squad arrived. Clay had to talk him into getting out of the way so they could work. I was there."

Cat digested that news in silence. 'I never expected he'd do that! Stayin' here with me is one thing, but to not follow the truck and stay with me at the wreck? Damn!' She felt a rush of emotion nearly overwhelm her. "Trust me, guys," her voice held a husky note to it. "I won't give him a hard time about it."

Unser stood up and laid his hand on hers for a moment. "I'm sorry CPD couldn't be of more help, Cat. You concentrate on getting better."

"Not your fault, Wayne," Cat squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Y'all did your best. That's all any of us can do when ya get right down to it."

"You know I've got to keep the club and LOAN from turning Charming into a battle zone," Unser added.

"I know ya do. The club didn't start this. They'll finish it. No one can say that Zobelle and Weston are completely innocent. They're just better at usin' the law to protect them," Cat replied. "Hale let them lead him by the nose from the minute they hit down. Maybe-" she broke off because she knew recriminations wouldn't do anyone any good.

"Maybe a lot of this wouldn't have happened if he'd not let the idea of using Zobelle's connections to make SAMCRO less of a presence in this town blind him," Unser finished for her. "At least Gemma, Chibs, and you wouldn't have been hurt. That's a lesson he's not likely to forget for a long time, Cat."

Unser patted her hand and walked to the door of her room, nodding at Slick in farewell before closing the door behind him.

"You OK, Lady Cat?"

She yawned and returned the bed to a reclining position. "Just tired. All the excitement today has worn me out!"

"I doubt there'll be any other visitors. Tig oughta be back before long. Go ahead and rest. You're safe."

Cat nodded and closed her eyes. Minutes later, she was asleep, dreaming of her dark haired knight in leather armour astride a steel horse, ridding the land of the evils of LOAN.

After their 'discussion' concerning her keeping Kozik's visit from him, Cat came clean to Alex about Margaret Murphy's visit and her interview with the hospital Chief of Staff on Tara's behalf. "I haven't seen Tara since I left Dr. Barry's office. Hope I didn't make things worse for her!" she added dolefully.

"She seemed OK when we left for Timberland," Alex replied. "I'm sure if something hadn't gone right, she'd have told Jax and I'd have gotten an earful!"

She winced at the truth behind the statement, though she knew he was only joking.

"The only thing I know that she's kept from Jax was the attack on Gemma," he added.

"That was because she was professionally bound to keep it on the QT."

"That's why I suspect things went well for her," Alex assured her with a wicked grin. He sobered quickly and laid his forehead against hers, looking directly into her eye. "You did _too_ much, baby! You just got out of a coma early this morning!"

She sighed tiredly. "You're right, love. That's why I accepted the pain medicine the nurse offered earlier. Everything hurts. Even my hair hurts."

He grinned at her joking complaint. 'She always says that it makes her hair hurt when somethin' annoys her!' He gently stroked what hair wasn't covered by gauze as he recalled everything she'd done for his comfort that evening. "Yeah, you did _way_ too much!"

She didn't reply because she'd drifted off to sleep, despite the fact her 'Gerry' movie, 'Timeline', was still running. He watched the ending then turned off the television and listened to her even breathing before the need for slumber claimed him.

Later that night, she suddenly bolted upright and cried out his name in fear. "Alex! I'm sorry! Don't die on me!"

Her cry jarred Alex from his own fitful sleep. He automatically began looking for anyone or anything that might've frightened her. The room was dark; but he knew there was nothing in the room to threaten her. 'What the fuck is goin' on?' He turned on the light mounted on the wall behind the bed to find Cat was sitting up, shaking and crying, yet still asleep. 'Shit! Must've spooked her with my outburst!'

He enfolded her in his arms, holding her close to him, whispering soothing words in her ear, and stroking her hair and back. "Hush, baby. I'm here. I'm not goin' anywhere! There's no gettin' rid of me!" He repeated the words until her shivering stopped. She relaxed in his arms and opened her eye to look at him.

"Al - Alex?"

"Who the fuck do you expect?" he chided her with relief. "It sure as Hell isn't Kim Coates or Gerard Butler!" He growled just loud enough for her to hear, "That damn well better _not _be who you expect!"

She laughed shakily and lay her forehead against his chest as tears streamed down her cheek.

'That's a good sign if the injured eye is producin' tears, I hope.' He clasped her face in both his hands, drawing his thumbs against the tears. "Wanna tell me about it?"

She shook her head. "Ain't nothin' important, love."

"Baby, you screamed my name and 'don't die on me!'. That's not 'nothin' important'!"

She tried to turn her face away from his intense gaze, but he still held her face in his hands, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "You gotta tell me, baby! Don't keep _this _from me!"

She sighed and gave in. "It was just a dumb stupid dream about you and Kozik, just before the fight. He convinced you I was leavin'. You were upset and couldn't focus. One of Weston's goons used a rock and bashed your head in. I could see it all happenin' as if I were right there. You were right that not warnin' you about Kozik could've gotten you killed!" The tears continued to roll down her cheeks and under his palms as she spoke.

'Way to go, asshole! If ya had any doubts about her not listenin' to ya, they're gone now. She heard ya, a'right!' He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, his voice still holding a soothing note as he comforted her. "Hush, Baby! It was just a bad dream. Prolly brought on by my tellin' ya off on top of the pain meds!" He rested his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry."

"I know _now _that it was a dream. At the time it was so damn real!" She replied shakily, still unable to meet his gaze. "You had every right to chew me out for my thoughtlessness. I'm sorry my dumb outcry woke ya up. You need your rest!"

"So do you. Look at me, baby," he ordered softly. "You're not a chicken shit, so look at me!"

She glared at him in response.

"Listen, baby. I understand now why you didn't tell me about Kozik before the thing at Timberland. I'm sorry for gettin' mad about it earlier. The good news is that I didn't get hurt, and Kozik's been sent back to Tacoma. He ain't gonna bother either of us for awhile."

"You're right, love," she sighed wearily. "Just goes to show that experience doesn't often make one an expert," she sighed.

"So we keep learnin' together. No big deal," he assured her. He gently guided her back to lie on the mattress and lay beside her, one arm thrown around her as she cuddled against him. "Go back to sleep, baby. I won't let the monsters get ya," he promised.

She slipped back to sleep between one breath and the next, her body relaxed against his.

'I dunno how I'll protect you from the monsters _I_ create, though. Somehow, I'll do it," he added as he listened to her even breathing. Her cheeks shone with wetness from her tears. He brought his face closer to hers and licked the tears from her cheeks, tasting the salt from them once again. His lips moved to cover hers. A fierce protective feeling welled up in him. 'I can't get over that she cries _for _me like that. It makes me feel – fuck, I don't know - It makes me feel _special_.' He reached out a hand to turn off the light. As he lay in the dark, a single thought came to his fatigued mind. 'Why do I have a feeling it won't be the last time she cries for me?'

Kozik had checked into a Motel 6 in Lodi. It was clean, cheap, and near the highway. He felt righteously pissed over his unceremonious dismissal from the Redwood clubhouse.

'I can't believe Clay turned me out like vermin and my president went along with it! All over ancient pussy, for fuck's sake!' He opened a beer he'd purchased from the convenience store down the street and tossed some of it down his throat, allowing the cold brew to soothe him. Kozik paced the room as he drank, smoking and fuming.

'Clay treated me like a traitor! That's gonna make trouble for me back home! Then there's that thing with Tig and his _old _lady. What the fuck does he see in that dried up pussy anyway? A meal ticket? Sure can't be for the fuckin' he's gettin'!'

Kozik stopped in front of the full length mirror over the vanity. His face still bore the marks of the fight at Timberland. "What the fuck are _you_ lookin' at, asshole?" He grimaced at himself and turned away to lie on the bed.

He stared up at the ceiling, recalling the visit he'd paid Cat Marshall. She'd spoken quietly and calmly to him, yet told him off royally for trying to turn her against Tig.

'Chick never raised her voice, but she sure told me off! Least she was decent enough to keep the charter out of it. She didn't squeal to Tiggy about it, either. He looked surprised to know I'd been to see her. Could there really be more to her besides pussy?'

Kozik snorted derisively. "Ha! That's all women are good for, somethin' to fuck. Otherwise, a man doesn't need a woman around fuckin' up his life. If Tiggy wants to be pussy whipped by that old broad, so be it! I'm perfectly happy with my life the way it is!"

A little voice deep inside spoke to him, the voice very much like Tig's old lady. 'Oh, yeah? Than why are you so envious of what he has? Tig's got peace of mind, someone that gives a damn whether he wakes up in the mornin' or not. You don't. Never will if you keep clingin' to the past, _old_ man.'

Kozik shook his head, trying to clear the faintly mocking voice from his mind. '_Am_ I clinging to the past? Could there really be something to what Tiggy's woman said?' He glared at his reflection in the mirror.

'You don't know for sure, do ya? What're you afraid of? That you've been wrong all this time?' The voice continued mocking him. ' Until you face facts, you'll _never_ have the same peace of mind. Grow yourself a pair of balls and face up to things!'

Kozik threw the empty beer bottle into the trash can across the room, wishing he could shut that inner voice out as easily as he disposed of the dead soldier. He flopped to his side on the wide bed, turned off the light and tried to find sleep, but it eluded him throughout the night while the slightly mocking voice continued to whisper inside his head.

The SAMCRO men, along with Gemma, Tara, and Lyla, had been waiting outside Charming PD for hours for word on Zobelle.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Clay mused, standing next to the bench where Gemma was sitting. His wife was pale and tired from the strain of the last few days. So were his men. 'Unser should've been able to tell us whether Zobelle got bail by now. What the Hell could be taking so long?'

The Police Chief walked dejectedly out the door just as Clay was thinking of him. Clay could tell by Unser's expression that the news wasn't good. Some change in the atmosphere must've alerted Tig to the Chief's presence. He snorted and sat up, shaking his head and trying to get his bearings.

Unser's attention was on Clay, but his words carried to everyone as he briefed them on the happenings inside. He didn't have a lot to share, just that Stahl and the other Feds were locked inside a conference room and had been since their arrival, while the DA had yet to decide about pressing charges on Weston for the Caracara fire.

Unser turned back to the station house, while Tig and the other men trudged down the steps to the street, trying to clear the cobwebs from their heads. Clay suggested Gemma and the women return to the clubhouse while Jax ordered Half – Sack to guard them.

While Clay embraced Gemma, the guys found various spots on a parked patrol car to perch, where they waited for news. The women piled into Tara's Oldsmobile and departed, Half – Sack's white Harley following.

Inside the station house, Unser received a double blow, as Hale announced the DA considered Chuckie an unreliable witness and wouldn't charge Weston. That proclamation was followed seconds later by the appearance of Stahl and the FBI agents in the hallway.

The head FBI man wanted to talk to Unser, he deferred to Hale and sat down next to Stahl, who looked utterly disgusted. She'd known the FBI had a priority on Zobelle; she'd thought it was because he was one of the higher echelon of LOAN.

She didn't care about the League. Stahl was more interested in his ties to the IRA gun running. The morning had been quite an education to her; despite the events of 9/11, the federal law enforcement agencies were still not working in tandem.

She'd learned that Zobelle was actually a FBI informant, providing valuable information on the big wigs of the League, along with government representatives, judges and others who were sympathetic to LOAN. As an informant, he had immunity from prosecution for anything unlawful he did in his role.

'Whoever cut this deal for him really shafted law enforcement. He's making himself rich while using the law as a shield. That's not right, but there's nothing I can do about it.' Stahl seethed. She could almost hope that the Sons' vigilante justice would caught up with Zobelle.

She informed Unser that the FBI was cutting Zobelle loose. Unser was shocked and surprised as Stahl started to walk away from him. He reached out, grabbed her elbow, and pulled her into the conference room she and the feds had vacated. Unser explained the situation with the Sons and why they were waiting outside for news of Zobelle.

'I wouldn't wish that on my worse enemy!' Stahl digested the news about the attack on Gemma. 'Still, it might be useful intel later on down the line. Guess it can't hurt to exchange information. If CPD won't learn from their previous mistakes, that's their problem, not mine.' She shared the news about Zobelle's informant status with an astounded Unser. She watched his face turn pale as she finished the briefing. 'Let's see what the Sons make of that!'

Zobelle smiled sardonically at her when he was released from his cell to make a phone call. "You look disappointed, Agent Stahl."

"You're observant. You _do_ know that you're not completely safe out there," she replied dryly.

"I have already prepared for that contingency," Zobelle replied, still smiling smugly. He walked to the desk phone and made a call to Alvarez' prepaid. "We will be ready to leave CPD when you arrive. You will go with us to the cigar store, we will leave Charming from there," he stated when Alvarez answered. After listening to Alvarez' confirmation, he disconnected the call. 'That was short enough to prevent them from tracing the call.'

"Agent Stahl. It has been a pleasure," he nodded regally to her as he returned to the cell where his daughter waited for him.

'Wish I could say the same,' she thought.

The Sons were basking in the sun when the Chief returned to share his news with them. He advised that the Feds had ordered the charges against the Zobelles dropped adding that Ethan Zobelle was a FBI informant and had been for three years.

Clay couldn't believe his ears. 'Zobelle is a rat, in more ways than one! He's actually gonna walk out of there scot free!'

Unser had more bad news for them. The DA had refused to consider Chuckie's eyewitness testimony in the Caracara fire. Due to being a convicted felon, any information he provided to law enforcement was considered 'unreliable'. The arson charges against Weston were being dropped and he would soon be released. Unser could delay that release until the Zobelles had left CPD.

'Shit!' Tig thought angrily. 'That rat bastard DA can't decide on takin' a dump without an opinion poll, for fuck's sake! No surprise that he wouldn't take Chuckie's word about the fire when he won't even consider Cat's pics from the MCC in our favor!'

Clay felt Big Otto and those sympathetic to the Sons at Stockton needed to know about Zobelle. 'Having the intel that Zobelle is a rat will protect him from the Brotherhood,' he reasoned. He asked Jax to deliver it.

Jax headed towards his bike, caught one look at Tig's scowling countenance and stopped to remind him Weston was off limits.

Tig stated a quiet affirmation to Jax's reminder. 'I got my satisfaction last night. Jax needs the same with Weston. I won't stand in his way.'

Jax nodded and continued to his bike when Tig called him back. Following behind a FBI agent and one of Unser's uniformed officers strode Ethan Zobelle. He was rolling down his shirt sleeves as he marched triumphantly down the stairs. Hale and Polly Zobelle followed behind him.

Zobelle looked smug as he exited the building, a wide, knowing smile lit his face. Polly turned and looked quietly at Clay, a dark bruise visible on the sound of her mouth. Zobelle refused Hale's offer of a police escort as a concentrated roar of a large number of Harleys broke the morning quiet.

The Sons looked in the direction of the noise. They shared the same thought: 'Surely Alvarez wasn't so foolhardy that to confront us in Charming!' To their surprise and disbelief, a twin line of bikes, headed by Alvarez, thundered down the street to CPD.

Zobelle smiled and pointed out the security detail that awaited him on the street before walking to his parked car. Polly turned her back on the Sons and followed him.

The Sons ran to their bikes. They could not allow the Mayans full and unchallenged travel within Charming. Tig put in a quick call to the clubhouse.

"Piney here."

"It's Tig. Get as many of the nomads and charters up and out as possible. Zobelle's been released and the Mayans are providing protection. Meet us across from _Impeccable Smokes _unless I tell you otherwise."

Alvarez and a few of his riders pulled forward, allowing Zobelle to enter the convoy. The line of bikes and the Mercedes filed slowly past the Sons, who were strapping on their helmets and mounting their bikes.

Hale and Unser watched the tableau from the parking lot. Both knew the rival club's presence in Charming was rubbing the Sons the wrong way, coming on top of learning the charges against Weston and Zobelle were dropped.

"This is not good," Hale murmured, stalking into the building to marshal the uniformed officers.

Unser leaned against a patrol car as the Sons peeled away from CPD in pursuit of the Mayans and Zobelle. He knew the war had already started, he just hoped it could be contained so that innocents weren't bloodied.

Kozik had spent the night tossing and turning, trying to find rest and having it continually elude him. After a few hours of fitful sleep, he decided to quit fighting the bed and got up.

'Fuck it. I'm not that far from the crash site. Maybe I should go up there, check things out for myself, maybe even check out the news archives. Won't get anywhere sittin' on my ass twiddlin' my thumbs.'

Decision made, Kozik strode to his bike and headed for I-5 and the scene of that long ago accident.

The air was clear and the sun shining. The wind in his face helped chase away the cobwebs in his brain. Once past the morning traffic rush, he was able to make good time to his intended destination.

He pulled to the side of the roadway, dismounted, and walked to the site where a white cross with his best friend's name was stuck into the ground. The white paint and the lettering was faded from sun.

'I need to fix that. Dunno why her family didn't see to it once in awhile. No reason for Tiggy to give a damn about it.'

He stood in front of the cross, making a mental note of what he would need to affect repairs. Despite the rush of passing traffic, the area held a serenity to it that soothed his spirit.

"I'm sorry not to have visited before, hon. No excuse, considerin' the number of trips between California and Tacoma. I've been hurtin' and missin' ya for years. Hear tell maybe I've been wallowin' in anger when it wasn't needed. No worries. I'll get this area spiffed up."

He returned to his bike and rode to the closest hardware store, where he purchased a couple of small cans of paint, sandpaper, and paintbrushes. Then he returned to the crash site to begin refurbishing the memorial.

He sat on the ground as he worked, first sanding off the old paint and smoothing the rough edges of the wooden cross. Once he had the old paint off, he brushed off the wood and applied a coat of white paint, allowing it to dry before applying a second coat.

Once the white paint dried, he opened the other can of paint and carefully painted his friend's name on one side of the cross beam, and the date of her death on the other.

He paid little attention to the sounds of traffic that passed by; his attention was focused on the task at hand. Finally, he stood up and examined his handiwork.

'Looks better.' He decided that he would check the site once a year, to insure the marker never got so bedraggled again. He gathered his trash and walked to his bike, mounted, and rode back into town to the library.

"May I help you, sir?" The librarian he approached didn't seem put off by his cut. If she was, she didn't let it show.

"Yes, ma'am. I'd like to research an old news event from a few years back, would that be possible?"

"Yes sir. All archival news reports are kept on line instead of microfilm. With newspapers having their own Internet storage, it just didn't make economic sense to store that kind of thing on microfilm in the library. All you have to do is let me hold your driver's license while you're using the computer."

Kozik raised his eyebrows in surprise, as he'd expected to have to go through reels of film. 'Sure saves time,' he handed his driver's license over to the librarian and walked with her to the public access terminals.

"Are you familiar with using the Internet, Mr. Kozik?"

"I have a bit of experience."

"All you do is click on the 'E' for the Internet explorer, type in a search engine, and away you go!" The librarian smiled cheerfully. "If you need to print anything, just use your mouse to click on file, then print. The printer's already set up. It's five cents per page and you can collect your copies at the information desk. Just tell the clerk the terminal number," she pointed to the number plate attached to the desk. "Any questions?"

Kozik smiled warmly. "I think I've got it, ma'am. Thanks."

She nodded and returned to her station.

Kozik accessed the Internet, selected a search engine, and typed in the name of the town. The search provided him with the town's newspaper and a link. He clicked on that link and located the newspaper's search engine. He typed in a query, and was rewarded with only five links to stories that fit his criteria.

The first two stories had nothing to do with Tig's wreck. Kozik hit pay dirt with the third link, which was accompanied by a picture of the wrecked motorcycle.

"**Oil Spill on I-5 Kills 1, Injures 1." ** blared the headline, followed by the reporter's byline and the city where the wreck had occurred.

**One person was killed, another injured in a one vehicle accident earlier today on I-5. A Harley-Davidson Dyna FXR motorcycle operated by Alex Trager went out of control after sliding on a patch of oil on the newly paved roadway. According to police reports, a considerable amount of oil was found on the pavement, which had recently been repaved by the state highway department. Police believe an unknown vehicle, possibly stopped in rush hour traffic, leaked oil in that spot. The police report indicates the oil and the color of the pavement were too similar to allow Trager to avoid it. That same report also concludes if Trager could have avoided it, the flow of traffic at the time wouldn't have allowed him to veer into another lane. The shoulder on that part of the road is very narrow, also negating any escape from the slick.**

**Trager told police he was traveling in the far right lane when he felt the motorcycle start to slide out from under him. He stated he tried to keep the vehicle from falling, but was unable to control the slide and 'laid the bike down.' Trager was thrown to the side of the road, sustaining a broken leg along with numerous cuts and abrasions. He was treated and released. **

**His passenger, 30 year old. . ." **

Kozik stopped reading. 'He was tellin' the truth the entire time!' He rubbed a hand over his face. 'It was just so easy to believe he killed her than to accept that it was a freak accident. I was wrong!'

The knowledge came too many years too late and couldn't undo the damage that had been done. Too many years of anger and hatred for Tig had passed for it to make a difference. He requested a print of the story and exited out of the Internet browser. He stood up and shook his head, still shocked by his discovery.

He sauntered to the librarian's station to request his print out and his driver's license. He handed over a dollar bill. "Keep the change. Consider it a donation to the library," he murmured, folding the paper she'd given him and stuffing it in a pocket of his cut.

The Mayans' motorcycles roared down Main Street, their thunderous engines causing car alarms to go off. Curious onlookers lined store windows and the sidewalks. They'd seen large numbers of Harleys before, but never belonging to another motorcycle club.

Coming up towards _Impeccable Smokes _from the opposite end of Main Street, passing by _Charming Pawse _and the SAMPOR charters sitting guard rode Piney, Happy, and members of SAMTAC, SAMPOR, and the former Devil's Tribe charter now known as SAMNEV. The Mayans parked in front of Zobelle's store, while the Sons lined up on the opposite side.

Clay and the contingent from CPD came roaring down Main Street after their brothers and parked next to them. On both sides of the street, men lounged on and/or straddled their bikes, waiting tensely and watching each other.

Charming patrol cars rushed onto the scene, lights blazing and sirens blaring. The sirens were turned off, but the police lights continued their red and blue blinking. Two patrol cars stopped in the center of the street between the two clubs. The occupants of the other patrol cars set up barricades on either end of the block and herded the curious citizens away from the potential war zone.

'Shit! Like I'd open fire in the middle of Main Street,' Clay groused, chomping on his cigar as he watched Alvarez walk into the cigar store with Zobelle and his daughter.

Clay glared at Hale, but the Deputy Chief ignored him, barking orders to the uniformed officers to get shop owners and patrons out of the stores on the block and get them to safety. Most of the shop owners were willing to close up and leave. Floyd was the only hold out.

"Floyd, I'm not asking you, I'm telling you!" Hale shouted. "It's for your safety!"

"I'm not leaving! The Sons won't let anything happen to me!" Floyd replied.

Clay walked in, sensing the barber might be obstinate. "Floyd, he's right. It'd be better if you vacate. I don't want you hurt if things go bad, and they could."

Floyd glared at the SAMCRO president. Then he nodded once and stomped from his shop, down the street, and on to the coffeehouse.

Unser pulled up after Floyd left and obtained an update from Hale. He argued against bringing in assistance from the sheriff's department. Hale reminded his boss that he'd been put in charge as acting Chief, it was his call to make and he was making it. 'If things go South, the extra manpower will be needed.'

Except to get up long enough for breakfast, a walk down the hallway, and using the necessary, Cat slept most of the morning after Alex left. She was tired from the previous day's exertions and the disagreement with Alex. The nightmare hadn't helped her rest and recovery.

Stone Coyote had been briefed on the visits from Kozik and the hospital administrator by GreyRider and Slick. He knew Tig would have something to say to him about their affect on Cat. He wasn't disappointed. The Sergeant at Arms read a terse version of the riot act to him out in the hallway before he left.

"She did way too much yesterday. It never occurred to me that anyone else would visit. Frosty was an exception. Kozik and the administrator shouldn't have happened."

"I agree."

'The why'd ya let it happen, asshole?' Tig glared at the charter president, but didn't voice his comment.

"Monitor all the incoming calls. Unless it's me, her father, or her employees, get a name and number. I don't care if it's God on the phone! Even He has to leave a message!

"Gotcha, Tig. I'll see to it that Puddy Cat gets plenty of rest."

Tig nodded once, gazed longingly at the closed door to his lady's room, and strode purposefully down the hall.

Stone Coyote had been content to sip on the coffee he'd brought for himself from the cafeteria, make the hourly calls to Tig, and watch television while Cat slept. He'd been watching a so-called talk show where nearly 90% of the comments from the 'guests' was bleeped when he noticed a 'breaking news' update scrawl along the bottom of the screen.

_"Reports are coming from Charming that members of two motorcycle gangs - the Mayans of Oakland and the towns' own Sons of Anarchy are engaged in a stand-off in the town's Main Street. Sources indicate the Mayans escorted local entrepreneur Ethan Zobelle and his daughter from Charming PD earlier this morning, following the Zobelles' arrest on undisclosed charges. Officers from Charming PD are on the scene, townspeople and stores in the immediate vicinity have been evacuated. We have a reporter en route and will break into regular programming once we have more information."_

Stone Coyote debated whether he should awaken Cat with the news or let her sleep. 'It's not good news that the Zobelles were released, much less that he has the Mayans protecting him. This could get real bad, real quick. Tig prolly doesn't have time to call and tell her. He might not want her listenin' to the tee vee coverage.'

His cellphone vibrated in his pocket. 'Speak of the devil,' he pulled out his cell and opened it with relief, hoping it was Tig with instructions. "Speak."

"It's Slick. Tommy Gunn's with me at Lady Cat's place. Cops just blocked off Main Street on either side of Zobelles' store and there's Mayans in town."

"I saw a blurb on TV. You a'right?"

"Yeah. We're far enough from ground zero that CPD didn't force us out. Lady Cat's boy, Pete, is havin' kittens and wants to talk to her. He's scared, needs reassurance I can't give 'im."

Stone Coyote closed his eyes in resignation to the inevitable. "Can't blame 'im. He needs to talk to the boss, he talks to his boss. I'll get her awake, tell him to call in two minutes."

"Will do," Slick hung up.

'That tears it. Nothin' I can do to keep this from her. Just hope she's not the type to get upset over sumfin' like this.' He stood up and reached a hand out to Cat's shoulder, gently nudging her awake. "Sorry, Puddy Cat, you gotta wake up. The shit's hittin' the fan."

She moaned and stirred, reaching out to raise the bed to a reclining position. "What's up? Zobelle get bail already?"

"Worse," Stone Coyote replied. He told her what he knew from the television scrawl and Slick's call. Just as he finished, the room phone rang. "Stone Coyote speaking," he barked into the mouthpiece. "Yeah, she's expectin' ya."

When James Windover first learned of the collision that injured Cat Marshall, he knew it was no accident. He followed up on the accident with Charming PD and the hospital, only to come up against a dead end when the hospital was unable to release information on her condition. He _was_ able to gain additional information from the _Charming Pawse _web - and Facebook pages, and submitted the story as a follow up to his report on the rally.

The news director, John Powell, was intrigued by the angle to Windover's story. James Pesta, the assignment editor, took an opposing view. "It's already old news. Besides, there's nothing to prove that the accident was related to the rally."

"There's nothing to prove that it wasn't," Windover contested. "If nothing else, it's human interest. We're the only station that covered the rally, we have an edge over the other area stations. We should maintain that edge and follow this wherever it might lead."

"Windover's right. For now, we need to be sure we're not leaping to a conclusion that the two events are connected. A related story, yes. A connection, not until it's proven." Powell announced decisively.

Pesta glared in annoyance. He didn't like having his opinion overturned by anyone, including the news director. "You're the boss, Powell."

"Be nice if you'd remember that, James," Powell retorted. 'The man knows his stuff, otherwise I'd have fired him long ago. It's the only reason I tolerate him.'

Windover posted his story on the accident, being careful about drawing any inaccurate conclusions. He continued to monitor the accident investigation, and all other events in Charming, including the arrest of Ethan Zobelle and his daughter, Weston's arrest for the Caracara Studios fire, and the deaths of three people in a warehouse.

'Charming's not quite living up to its' name today,' he observed. His reporter's instincts cried that there were a lot of connections, the location where the events were occurring being just being one of them. For the moment, he was content to follow each story independently, as opposed to one large story.

He and his assigned camera person checked out a news van with transmitting capacity to take to Charming. Windover intended to look into the facts of the Zobelles' arrest. Both listened intently when the in-car police scanner picked up the Charming police dispatch alert of a stand – off between rival motorcycle gangs on Main Street, in front of Zobelle's store, _Impeccable Smokes_.

The van's two way radio crackled into life at the same instant with Pesta's voice. "Unit three, this is base."

"Unit three. Go ahead," Windover replied.

"You heard the dispatch?"

Windover smiled. "Roger. We're en route, base."

"Powell's called in the helicopter, so we'll be getting aerial shots. Get us anything you can on the situation. Be ready to go on air as soon as possible."

"Copy, base. Unit three out."

Windover's camera operator grinned and increased their speed. "Sounds like you've got yourself a biggie."

"Especially if Ethan Zobelle is involved in some way," Windover observed.

"We'll soon find out," the camera operator replied as they crossed the town line. He pulled onto Main Street, which was lined with by – standers and parked cars. An entire block was cordoned off with sawhorses and police officers.

"Ground zero," Windover remarked. "How close can you get us?"

"Hey, we're the press, we can get as close as the sawhorses!"

"Do it, man!"

The camera operator guided the newsman down the street, past the by – standers to the barricaded block. He parked right at the corner, got out of the van, and went around to the back to remove his camera gear and set up the satellite.

Windover jumped from the passenger side and started to look for potential witnesses and a police spokesperson. 'I recognize Chief Unser from the rally. He might be the best person to talk to.' Windover wrinkled his nose as the police officer walked away from him with one of the SAMCRO men; a tall, grey-haired man in a blue bandanna. 'Guess I'll have to find someone else. I'm on a deadline.'

Cat accepted the receiver from Stone Coyote and cleared her throat. "Cat speaking."

"It's Pete, Miss Cat. Have you seen the television this morning?"

She would have normally responded with a quip. 'Somethin's got my boy spooked. Better play it straight." Pete's voice sounded strained and a little higher in pitch than normal. "I've been sleepin', darlin'. What's up?"

"The guys are parked up Main Street, right across from _Impeccable Smokes!" _Cat was about to make a snarky comment on that matter when Pete added hastily. "Tommy Gunn says there's a whole herd of Mayans parked in front of the cigar store!"

"Hang on a second, darlin'," she replied, putting her hand over the mouthpiece. "Stone Coyote, is Tommy Gunn one of your guys?"

He nodded. "There's a situation downtown. Zobelle got released and for some reason, the Mayans are providing him with protection. The Mayans are parked in front of his cigar store while the Sons are facin' them across the street. CPD is right in the center of the street between the two."

Cat's nose wrinkled. "Sounds like the classic Mexican standoff. No pun intended."

"You could say that, Puddy Cat. Local media's on it's way, the channel ran a scrawl on the screen a few minutes ago."

'Great! Just what the guys _don't _need, a lot of media hounds sniffin' around! Zobelle will use that lot for his own nefarious ends!' She took a deep breath and turned her attention back to Pete. "OK, honey. I've gotten caught up. Are all y'all safe? Do y'all need to close up?"

"No, ma'am. CPD came through to tell us what was happening, but said we're out of harm's way and could stay open. Some of the displaced shop owners have stopped in. None of the guys, yet. Nor the Mayans."

"Well, at least there's good news. Hopefully, the Mayans won't get a hankerin' for a cuppa!"

"I was thinking of taking some coffee down to the guys, but Slick and Tommy Gunn said that wasn't a good idea," Pete replied.

"They're right. The last thing we need to do is stir the coals under a very unstable mix," Cat stated ruefully. "If the guys want any coffee, they know where we are. Stay put. How's the kittens?"

"Skittish. I think they sense the tension."

Cat sighed. "They probably do. Best get them back to the house. Tap a spoon against a can of food. Ebony and Ming will come running, and Misty will follow out of curiosity. Once they're in the house, slide the barrier in place. I'd rather they were at the house right now."

"OK, Miss Cat. Mr. Tig said he'd be bringing the new guy over today, by the way."

"That dance card might change, darlin'. Just hang tight. Given the condition of Chuckie's hands, you'd best plan to feed the furbabies like you've been doin'."

"OK, Miss Cat. We're keepin' busy here."

"I don't doubt it, honey. Good for us. If the cops tell you to close, don't argue. Do it. If Tig does bring Chuckie, go ahead and take him after those supplies we discussed. Keep me posted. I'll be monitorin' the news on the tee vee."

"OK, Miss Cat. Sorry to disturb you." Pete's voice sounded contrite.

"Don't worry, darlin'. You did the right thing in callin' me. Be safe."

"I will. Talk to you later, Miss Cat."

Cat returned the phone to the cradle and sighed wearily. "It's gonna be a long day, Stone Coyote."

"You said it, Puddy Cat!"

Unser knew a showdown was coming and wanted to keep it out of Charming if at all possible. He needed to keep innocent civilians from being hurt. To achieve that end, he discussed the various options open to the Sons with Clay as the Sons' vigil continued.

"I'm doing everything I can to keep this from exploding in town, Chief," Clay stated flatly as they walked down the Sons' row of Harleys. "The Mayans were an unanticipated and unwelcome addition to the mix."

"What do you intend to do?" Unser asked worriedly.

"Whatever I have to. For now, there's nothing to be gained by having both sides facing off like this. Zobelle won't make a move with us around. If the majority of us are out of sight, Zobelle will eventually leave with Alvarez. When they hit the road, we strike."

"You're thinking of an ambush on the highway?"

Clay hadn't considered that option, but it made a Hell of a lot of sense to him. "Lots of room, but we need to keep motorists away so no one gets hurt in the crossfire."

"Hmmm." Unser thought quickly. 'A call to the department of highways, request they close off both sides of the interstate between two exits allows the Sons their chance to take Zobelle. Innocents are safe.' He nodded. "I'll set it up."

Clay had done some quick thinking of his own. 'A good old fashioned Trojan horse would enable us to cut off Zobelle and the Mayans with no bloodshed.' Clay explained his idea to Unser while they walked back towards his patrol car. "Any chance of us borrowin' a box truck? Maybe a 24 footer?"

Unser smiled grimly. "I like your line of thinking, Clay. A reminder to Zobelle about the ambush. Consider it yours. One of my unis is watching the back of Zobelle's; reported his daughter left in the Scion a little after they arrived. She looked pretty upset."

"Likely running an errand for darling Daddy. He won't leave without her. Not after last night. I'll see you at the clubhouse later."

As Unser walked toward his car, Jax came roaring past the barricades and pulled to a stop in front of Clay, reporting that Big Otto had received the information about Zobelle.

Unser shared the news that Weston knew about Zobelle's FBI informant status, and was heading out of town following a visit with his children at the SJCFS center.

Jax decided then and there to go after Weston, and

prepared to leave again. He shared a brief hug with his step-father, then raced off, followed by Opie and Chibs.

'Shit! It can't be Cat's employees callin' again!" Stone Coyote glared at the ringing telephone. 'It wouldn't be Tig, not callin' from a job!'

"Better let me answer it, Stone Coyote," Cat sighed. "It might be my father. He and my brother are the only other people Tig authorized to call besides my employees." She reached for the receiver and picked it up, silencing the harsh ring. "Cat here."

The voice on the other end of the line was a surprise to her. "It's Windover. Don't hang up. Can you talk?"

"Of course I can! I'm not involved in a lock down, for cryin' out loud!" Cat snorted.

"No, but Teller – Morrow is. What's that about?"

"Privileged information, sport. You'll have to get that from the street."

'Can't blame her for being cautious.' Windover wrinkled his nose in consternation.

Stone Coyote frowned at her. "That doesn't sound like you're talkin' to yer father."

"I'm not. It's my brother," she replied with a grin.

Windover coughed to cover up a laugh. "That's exactly what I told the switchboard operator! Got your brother's name off the coffeehouse's Facebook page."

'Note to self, remind brother not to sign notes on Facebook 'love from yer brother'!' Her hand went to the bridge of her nose. "I'm not surprised at your industriousness."

"Coming from you, I'll take it as a compliment. Is the lock down at the garage related to what's going on here on Main Street? And does that involve Zobelle?"

"Maybe."

"Any idea what the Sons are going to do?"

"None, brother dear," Cat replied in a honeyed voice.

"Ouch! Any more sugar to that tone and I'll get sugar shock!" Windover replied, scribbling furiously in his notebook. "Don't worry, I won't attribute anything to you."

"I'm relieved to hear that," Cat remarked dryly. "How's Daddy handling it?"

Windover was caught off guard, then realized she was speaking to him as if he were her brother. "You're not alone are you?"

"I'm glad to hear it. I know he's been worried. _You can tell him I've had good men watchin' out for me since the wreck_. When Alex isn't here, they are."

"There's a Son guarding you." Windover stated.

"You got it, brother."

"Oh, shit! I'm sorry to put you in the middle."

"Wouldn't be the first time, probably won't be the last. I'm still pretty racked up, bro. Give Daddy my love when you see him."

"Thanks, Miss Marshall."

"Love you too," she replied and replaced the receiver on the base.

Windover shook his head as he assembled his notes into a workable introduction for his live report. 'I can't believe she took the chance of talking to me with a Son present. Must not've been her old man with her.' He glanced down the block at the line of the Sons bikes, spotted Tig, and breathed a sigh of relief. 'Good. I'd hate to make trouble between them. I've made enough for her as it is.'

The camera operator had edited the video he'd taken to use in the live report. "Ready to get an official on camera? The Chief's free!"

Windover grabbed the cordless microphone and walked to the sawhorse, gesturing at Chief Unser. "Chief! James Windover, Channel 2. I covered the rally the other night!" He called out and waved. "We were the only station to cover it. Could you give me a moment?"

Unser looked up at the reporter. 'I'm surprised the rest of 'em haven't swarmed here. Most of 'em left town after I chased 'em from the hospital.' He recalled the rally, and how Cat had seemed to warm up to the young reporter. 'Well, what can it hurt? I'd rather deal with one now than a horde later.' He nodded and stepped over to the sawhorse.

Windover looked directly into the camera and gave a countdown. "In 3, 2, . . . Charming Police Chief Wade Unser joined us briefly to discuss the situation. Chief, what can you tell us?"

"There's not much to tell at this time. Early this morning, the Mayan motorcycle club from Oakland entered Charming at Ethan Zobelle's request. There has been bad feeling between our local sport motorcycle club, the Sons of Anarchy, and Mr. Zobelle for several weeks. Mr. Zobelle and his daughter were arrested last night and released this morning. Apparently the Zobelles feel their safety is threatened and hired this group of outlaws to protect them."

"Is it because the Zobelles believe the Sons _are _a threat to them?"

"I can't speak for the Sons. If you can get any of the Sons to talk to you, you're welcome to ask them." Unser smiled grimly.

"Can you state whether Mr. Zobelle and/or the League of American Nationalists is responsible for either the fire – bombing at Teller – Morrow, or for the accident that injured Cat Marshall?"

"No, I can't. Investigations into those matters are still ongoing. _There is no conclusive evidence to connect LOAN or Zobelle to either of those incidents_." Unser gazed intently at the reporter as he deliberately put a special emphasis on the last sentence.

"Is there any danger to the citizens?" Windover asked, nodding his understanding to the officer.

"Store owners, employees, and patrons of shops within the cordoned – off area have been evacuated to a safe place as a precaution."

"Thank you, Chief," Windover nodded and made a cutting motion with his hand. The camera operator walked to the back of the van and put the tape in a machine for use in the live report.

Shouts of "Hold it right there!" captured their attention. The camera operator swung his camera around to catch Marcus Alvarez advancing across the street towards the two parked police cruisers.

Windover triggered the two-way attached to his belt as he inserted the ear piece. "Base, we have action. Ready to go live!"

Cat was wide awake following Windover's call and nervous for the guys. 'I don't like the sounds of a Mexican standoff like that. No tellin' when somebody's gonna look at someone the wrong way. The guys' tempers are stretched pretty thin.' She'd turned the television to Channel 2, as she was curious about the track Windover would follow with the story.

The volume was down, and she was still without her glasses. She'd checked the rolling table and the night table drawer, but there was no sign of them. She was about to go to the closet when Stone Coyote called her attention to the television.

"Sumfin's goin' down, Puddy Cat!" He turned up the volume as Cat walked to stand directly under the television screen, squinting at the picture.

A clip with the Channel 2 logo, and the words 'Breaking News!' appeared on the screen along with upbeat music symbolizing something important demanding the viewer's immediate attention.

"Normal business in downtown Charming has been disrupted by the presence of two rival motorcycle gangs, the Mayans of Oakland and the local Sons of Anarchy. Charming Police are on the scene, along with our reporter, James Windover," the news anchor intoned gravely. He looked directly into the camera, his slightly grey hair in place, his eyes making contact with the viewer. "James, what's happening?"

The scene cut to a close up of Windover, a fuzzy far shot of the barricaded street and the two lines of parked motorcycles on both sides of the street. "The street was fairly quiet, despite the presence of the two motorcycle clubs, until just moments ago, when the apparent leader of the Mayan club -"

"Alvarez," Cat sighed.

" - walked across the street towards the assembled Sons of Anarchy. The Mayan leader was stopped by police and searched. At that moment, the leader of the Sons, followed by a few of his men -"

"I think I see Tig directly behind Clay," Stone Coyote explained. "Looks like Happy, Juice, Bobby, and Piney are with 'em. Clay's handing his gun back to Tig to hold."

" - walked toward the Charming club until he was stopped by the police and searched. It appears he wishes to talk to the leader of Charming's motorcycle club."

As Stone Coyote described the video being shown over Windover's narrative, Cat suddenly realized why he'd called her earlier. 'He was lookin' for a link to LOAN in all of this!'

"There's dozens of Mayans parked on Zobelle's side of the street," Stone Coyote reported. "I don't see Jax, Chibs, or Opie. There's some nomads and charters - none of mine, though - lined up directly opposite the Mayans with two CPD cars in the middle of the street."

"Making that a demilitarized zone I suspect," she observed.

"There are barricades and cop cars blocking the intersections at either end of the block. There's also shots of cops escorting store owners and citizens from the area. One guy doesn't look so happy about it. He's stompin' away from the barber shop."

"That's Floyd. Likely he's gonna go sit at the coffeehouse and grouse!" she grinned. "He often does when somethin' upsets him."

"Not to worry, Puddy Cat. If he gets outta line, Slick and Tommy Gunn will handle him."

"I appreciate the charter lookin' out for my 'kids'. That's really goin' above and beyond," she smiled.

Stone Coyote shrugged. "Ain't nothin' major, Puddy Cat. You're our friend. We take care of our own."

"So I notice."

The camera operator zoomed in over Windover's shoulder to show the two leaders in conference as the reporter continued, "The leader of the Sons has now joined the Mayan in the center of the street."

"Clay's face is set like granite. Alvarez seems unaffected," Stone Coyote added.

"At least they're talking instead of fighting," she observed.

"Barely. I know Clay doesn't want a battle in the middle of Main Street. But can't say Alvarez cares either way."

"Not his town; no reason for him to care."

"What brought the groups to this downtown face off?" the anchor inquired of his reporter.

Footage that Windover's camera operator had taken when they arrived on the scene was displayed over John's narrative. "Sources indicate that Ethan Zobelle, the so-called 'cigar king' and his daughter were arrested on undisclosed charges by CPD last night. Zobelle was recently outed by the owner of a local coffeehouse, Cat Marshall, as a high stakes player in the League of American Nationalists. Ms. Marshall, co-incidentally, was critically injured in an auto accident the night of the rally that outed Zobelle. We are told his arrest was not related to the accident investigation. We've also learned that after his release from CPD, the Mayan motorcycle club from Oakland, along with several of their charter members, appeared _en masse _to escort Zobelle to his store, where he and the Mayan leader have remained. Sources indicate the Sons are present in order to deter the Mayans from creating mischief in their town."

Cat grinned. "That's a diplomatic way to put it! Full of bull, but diplomatic!" She glanced over her shoulder at Stone Coyote. "Can you tell me what you can see of the footage? I hate not wearin' my cheaters!"

Stone Coyote described everything that he saw on screen. "Other than Alvarez, I don't recognize any of the other Mayans. Tig looks pretty wide awake, so relax. No sign of Kozik."

"There won't be," she replied quietly. "Kozik got sent home last night."

"I figured that was gonna happen after Clay talked to GreyRider about Kozik's visit and gettin' you hurt," he admitted. "I'm glad Tig was here with ya, Puddy Cat. Clay looked pretty upset about it. Guess Kozik showed his ass at Timberland."

Cat thought about the nightmare she'd had about the fight, and about Tig's righteous anger over her choice to say nothing about it before the fight. "Yeah, he did. It could've been worse. I thought waitin' til after the fight to tell Tig what happened was the right thing to do, to protect him."

"Slick said you were adamant about it. Caused yourself some additional hurt, Puddy Cat. There's a time to tell yer man sumfin' and there's a time not to. Who knew Kozik wouldn't have his mind on club business? Frankly, I think you made the right decision at the time. Tig needed to believe Kozik was there to help, not hinder."

Cat smiled wryly. "Tig eventually came to that way of thinkin', too. It just took him a while to get over his wounded male pride."

"I'll bet," Stone Coyote replied. "Looks like the conversation is breakin' up. Doesn't look like anythin' was accomplished. The Mayans ain't leavin'."

Windover's voice over had continued during their conversation. The short interview the reporter had conducted with Unser was just ending.

"Damn! I wish he wouldn't play up my wreck as a connection to Zobelle! There's no proof to tie him or Weston or LOAN to it!"

"Well, Puddy Cat, there's one Hell of a lot of circumstantial evidence pointing that way. Folks've been convicted on less tangible proof."

Windover's voice drew their attention again. "The Mayan representative is returning to his club, the Sons leader is being joined by the rider he'd entrusted with his sidearm. It appears the parlay has ended for now."

The screen went to a split showing the scene on Main Street and the news anchor in the studio. "What's the mood there, James?"

"Everyone is waiting to see what's going to happen next, so there is some evident tension, mostly amongst the police and the motorcyclists. The citizens are curious while the evacuated shop owners are unhappy over losing business."

"It looks like the police are outnumbered between the onlookers and the bikers," the news anchor added.

"True. We've overheard from the police radios that Deputy Chief Hale has requested back up from the San Joaquin Sheriff."

An aerial view of the scene took the place of the split screen. "We're looking at a shot from our News 2 helicopter camera, John. The line of bikes on both sides of the street is impressive. Weren't the Sons recently arrested for storming a Christian center in search of Zobelle?"

Windover nodded. "No one was injured in that melee, though there were some scared families. Shots were fired, but evidence has not concluded whether the shots came from the motorcyclists or from Zobelle."

"Bullshit! The DA has the feckin' pics I took that clearly show someone shot from _behind _the podium! The guys were never hear it! I gave those pics to Rosen myself! He turned 'em over to the DA weeks ago! Fucktard!"

"Gettin' mad about it ain't gonna help, Puddy Cat," Stone Coyote cautioned. "It's politics. Trust me, we're used to it. If the idiot's re-elected, he'll prolly decide then to drop all charges, or charge 'em with misdemeanors and time served and a fine or sumfin like that."

"You're probably right," Cat mumbled.

"A major contingent of the Sons appears to be preparing to leave the area," Windover announced, over a long shot from the helicopter showing riders strapping on helmets and mounting their bikes. "A few of the Sons are staying behind; apparently to watch for Zobelle to depart with his Mayan escort. We'll return to the air if the situation changes and I'll have a complete story on the evening news tonight. For now, this is James Windover reporting from Main Street, Charming."

The news anchor began a wrap up of the live report and Stone Coyote turned down the volume. He and Cat exchanged bleak expressions. It was, indeed, going to be a very long day.

Clay watched Unser's interview out of the corner of his eye as he sat and watched Alvarez on the opposite side of the street. "Unser's getting' his fifteen minutes of fame," he mused unsmilingly.

"Somebody's gotta do it. Better him than Hale," Tig replied. "At least Unser's sympathetic to us."

Alvarez suddenly started across the street, heading straight for Clay. He got as far as the parked police cruisers in the middle of the street that served as an unofficial demilitarized zone before being stopped by the uniformed officers.

Clay sauntered towards the same line of cars, followed by Tig. At the uniforms command, he stopped, pulled his gun from the holster at his back, held it up and handed it back to Tig.

Satisfied that both gang leaders were unarmed, the officers backed away to allow the pair to talk. It was a short talk, and non productive. Clay chose not to say anything to Alvarez about Zobelle's treachery, much to Tig's surprise. The short parlay concluded with neither man giving an inch to the other.

As he watched Alvarez walk away, Clay growled an answer to Tig's quiet inquiry, that he was reserving the right to kill Zobelle. He returned to his men, noting from the corner of his eye the news camera focused on them. He stifled the urge to indulge in digital communications with the media, choosing instead to order Juice, Happy, and the Nomads to watch the Mayans.

Tig removed his cell phone from a pocket and called the one he'd given Chuckie to use the day before in Galt. He gazed out of habit towards _Charming Pawse. _He knew Cat's employees were out of harm's way and were being guarded by the Portland charter.

'Imagine the 'kids' are havin' a run of business with the action around here,' he observed sourly. 'Prolly already alerted Cat to the ruckus and she'll have the tee vee on, listenin' to every word and figurin' out what the mouthpieces _aren't _saying. She's prolly told the 'kids' to stay put and not try to play host.'

"Chuckie here." Tig was gratified he answered quickly as opposed to making him wait a few rings.

"It's Tig. We're heading back. Be ready to go as soon as I pull in. I'll take you to the coffeehouse by way of the hospital. I won't have time to fuck around."

"I accept that." Chuckie replied.

Tig snapped the cell closed and listened to Clay issue instructions to Juice and Happy. The departing Sons mounted their bikes and followed Clay in the opposite direction Jax, Opie, and Chibs had taken after Weston.

Cat's neck was sore from staring up at the screen and a headache was forming from her having to squint at the screen. 'The only place I haven't looked for my cheaters is the bag of my stuff in the closet. Alex might've put 'em in there for safe keepin', and I'd like to have my ring. Can't wear it, but it'll be a comfort right now.'

She moved to the closet and retrieved the plastic bag of her possessions, taking it to the bed. She sat on the mattress and upended the bag. Her eyeglasses fell onto the mattress, one temple stuck in her wallet to keep them from moving around.

"Hot damn! Found 'em!" She crowed with delight. 'It might stretch the fit a little, but any good optical shop can adjust 'em later.' She slid the eye wear carefully over her bandaged eye and settled the frame on her bruised nose. "Ahhh! Much better to have the world in focus again!"

She looked over to Stone Coyote and smiled. "Nice to finally see ya!"

Stone Coyote smiled at her. "Nice to be seen clearly, Puddy Cat! I don't think I'm cut out for providing play by play!"

"Well, I appreciate what y'all did for me. It helped to hear the action goin' on." She turned back to the small pile of her belongings. 'Not much to show. I've got my bracelet and cheaters. Looks like my boots were the only clothes that escaped intact. There's my wallet and the phones, they're both probably dead now." She pawed through the bag and upended her boots, then checked her wallet. 'Where in Hell is the ring?' Neither her ring nor chain were to be found.

"Shit!"

"What's wrong, Puddy Cat?"

She shook her head. "Somethin' I was wearin' the night of the wreck isn't here. Just a piece of jewelry."

"Maybe it fell in the car?"

"I hope so," she sighed. 'I hope I don't have to tell Alex. It'll hurt his feelin's.'

A nursing aid entered the room, pushing a wheelchair ahead of her. "Hi, Ms. Marshall. Dr. Gallagher has ordered some tests, we need to see how your eye and lung are healing."

"Now?"

The CNA nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"It's OK, Puddy Cat. You go. I'll stay here in case Tig stops in," Stone Coyote assured her.

"What makes you think I'm worried about that?" she retorted, a small blush coloring her cheeks.

"I know how you are about him," he replied. "Go. The sooner you go, the sooner you'll be back."

"Fine! I know when I'm not wanted!" she laughed, settling into the chair.

"We should be back in half an hour, sir," the CNA assured Stone Coyote as she expertly backed the wheelchair from the room.

The Redwood men roared into the Teller – Morrow parking lot to wait and prepare for the upcoming confrontation with Zobelle and Alvarez. Tig noted with relief that Chuckie was already waiting for him outside the clubhouse.

Hourly updates had been coming from Stone Coyote all morning, but Tig wanted to spend a little bit of time with Cat before things got hairy. There was a small window of opportunity for him to see her and get Chuckie over to the coffeehouse. As he backed his Dyna into position next to Clay's, he glanced at his president in wordless entreaty.

"I figured you'd wanna use the time to go see her. Keep your cell phone turned on. We won't have much lead time when Zobelle goes on the move."

"Got that." He motioned for Chuckie and hurried into the garage office, grabbed the keys to the courtesy vehicle, and strode to the vehicle. He unlocked and opened the passenger side door for Chuckie, who quickly climbed inside and closed the door behind him while Tig ran around the front and climbed into the driver's seat. Within minutes of parking his Dyna, they were on the street and headed towards St. Thomas.

"I'm takin' ya to meet your new employer, then we'll go to the coffeehouse. Our place is right behind it," Tig explained, keeping his eyes on traffic. "Cat'll give you the lowdown on what she wants ya to do."

"I accept that," Chuckie replied nervously.

Tig glanced him then turned his attention back to the road ahead. "Nothin' to be nervous about, man," he grinned. "I smoothed things over for ya! She's a good woman to work for. Treats her people right."

"I accept that," Chuckie replied, but he still felt nervous. 'It's not like it was her choice. She's accepting me because of her relationship with Tig. I bet I'd be the _last _person she'd hire!' He turned his head to look out the window.

Tig glanced over again. 'He's nervous. Can't blame him, his most recent work history hasn't been easy. But he'll soon find out that Cat's bark is worse than her bite. They just need time to get to know each other without me in the way. She _did_ say there was a change of clothes in the closet for me. Best excuse to give them time to get to know each other.'

The pair rode in silence until Tig parked in the hospital parking lot. Chuckie trotted to keep up with Tig's long strides through the front door to the elevators. He was panting by the time they stopped to wait for an elevator car.

"Sorry, man," Tig smiled apologetically as Chuckie bent at the waist to catch his breath. "Guess I'm in a hurry."

"No kidding!" Chuckie replied, taking a deep breath. "She doing any better?"

"I hope so. Had a rough day yesterday. I'm hopin' she doesn't know about the confrontation with the Mayans. I doubt that'll be the case, she has her resources. Don't let anything she says or does surprise ya."

Tig walked into the room, ready with a cheerful greeting for his lady. To his surprise, her bed was empty and Stone Coyote was watching a syndicated court program.

"Where the Hell is she?" he asked sharply.

"They took her to run some kinda tests. Wanna check her lung and eye I guess. Been gone about 20 minutes, oughta be back any time." Stone Coyote replied. "I called and left ya a message when I saw ya were leaving Main Street."

'Shit! That's what I get for not checkin' before headin' out!' Tig frowned. 'If I hafta leave without seein' her, it's gonna upset her. I'm not gonna be too crazy 'bout it, either.'

"This her new guy?" Stone Coyote inquired, eyeing Chuckie and his two bandaged hands.

"Yeah. Chuckie Marstein, meet Stone Coyote, president of the Portland charter. That club's loyal to Cat. He'll tell ya the story." Tig reached inside the closet and withdrew the gym bag. He unzipped it to find a pair of clean black jeans, short sleeved black shirt, clean sox, his toothbrush, razor and shave cream. 'Didn't forget a thing!' He strode to the bathroom with the bag held over one shoulder. "This room's occupied for awhile."

"I accept that," Chuckie replied.

Tig grinned and disappeared into the bathroom. He didn't look at the empty bed before closing the door behind him. 'She'll be back soon. She _has_ to be back soon.' He took a quick shower, dried off, and dressed in the clean clothing, trying not to dwell on how much he missed Cat's presence.

Left alone with Stone Coyote, Chuckie gazed around the hospital room. The bed had been newly made and was waiting for his new employer. There were chairs on both sides of the bed.

"Take a seat, man. Relax. Trust me, Puddy Cat's not gonna scratch or bite ya," Stone Coyote offered.

"I accept that," Chuckie moved to the left side of the bed and sat down. "Tig said your charter is loyal to her. What's that all about?"

Stone Coyote smiled. 'Good way to fill time and take his mind off the meeting.' He explained how Cat had first officiated the pick up game between his charter and the Redwood men until Half Sack had to bow out of the game. "I gave her a hard time about bein' the ref; thought she was too old. She proved me wrong in no time. Puddy Cat was gonna play for Redwood, Tig wouldn't let her 'cause they were skins. She played on our team and one of my guys was ref. We pulled out of a five point deficit and almost defeated Redwood. Tig scored the winning basket."

Chuckie grinned at the idea of Tig stripping half naked to play against his lady. "Sounds like it was fun," he replied wistfully. He'd been unable to come to Charming when LuAnn's funeral took place; he was still working off his debt to Lin. 'I really wanted to give Big Otto my condolences. He really loved her. Talked about her all the time.'

"When we heard about what happened to her after her rally, all my guys agreed to take turns guardin' her," Stone Coyote added. "Nobody's hurtin' Puddy Cat on our watch."

"I thought her name is Cat."

Stone Coyote nodded. "Puddy Cat is what I call her. Tig's a lucky bastard. She's devoted to him. Doesn't give him shit about the club. She's got a bit of an outlaw spirit, but she's really a decent person. You'll like her."

'Yeah, but will she like me? Most people don't. I'm surprised Tig does. I'm not exactly real pleasant to be around, been in the same clothes for days!' He tried not to look as scared as he felt.

"I thought I felt my ears burnin'!" Cat remarked as she limped through the door. She'd endured riding in a wheelchair for the tests with as much grace as she could but had insisted on walking into her room from the hallway. Behind her, the nurse's aid kept a watchful eye on her in case her patient slipped or stumbled.

Stone Coyote and Chuckie both up stood at her entrance. Stone Coyote rushed over to offer his arm to help her, she waved it off and limped on over to the bed. Only then did she allow Stone Coyote to offer his arm as an aid as she climbed back onto the mattress.

"Damn! I've seen newborn kittens with more get up 'n go than I've got!" she sighed as she got comfortably settled.

"Tig's here," Stone Coyote announced. "He's changin' in the bathroom."

"I thought I heard somethin' in there. Glad it's not a bog monster!" she replied with a warm grin at the charter president.

Chuckie had watched her while trying not to look like he was staring. 'I thought my hands were bad, this poor lady really went through the wringer!' He quickly inventoried the injuries; her left eye was bandaged and taped. There were several cuts on her forehead and face that were scabbing over, what portions weren't covered with an assortment of dark colored bruises. Her left arm was in a cast, and a tube stuck out of her chest on the same side.

Chuckie could tell by her movements that she was still in a lot of pain, but she wasn't admitting to it.

Her hair was a dark chestnut brown and framed her face in a short cut. The unbandaged eye was green as an emerald and twinkled gaily at him.

"Hey!" She lifted her right hand in a cordial greeting, the digits of her hand spread in a 'V'. "I'm Cat Marshall, your new boss. You're Chuckie Marstein, right? Or do you prefer to be called Charles?"

Her voice held a hint of the South, and was low and warm. Chuckie felt genuinely welcomed and recognized the hand gesture from the original 'Star Trek'. He was surprised that she was being so friendly to him on first sight. He waggled one finger to return her greeting and met her warm gaze with a slight smile. "Chuckie's OK. Hope you don't mind that I'm not able to shake hands, Ms. Marshall."

"Please, call me Cat. All my employees do. Ms. Marshall is way too stuffy!" She pulled a notebook from the rolling table as she spoke. "Since Tig's otherwise occupied, let's put the time to good use," she glared at the closed bathroom door a moment before adding to Chuckie, "Did Tig say anythin' about pay, hours, and/or benefits?"

Chuckie shook his head with a grin. "No, ma'am."

"Sounds to me like he's already gone out on a limb hirin' the guy without consultin' you!" Stone Coyote remarked dryly. "Wasn't that kinda oversteppin' the club's authority?"

Cat made a shushing gesture. "The Sons have a small stake in _Charming Pawse,"_ she explained to Chuckie. "They normally don't get involved with the day-to-day managin' of the joint. However, there _are_ exceptions to every rule, and this is one of 'em," she glared wryly at the closed door again.

"Look, Miss Cat, if this is gonna cause a problem between you and Tig, I can -"

"-work a part time schedule for now, " Her interjection was good natured. "Four hours a day, four week days and Saturday. The store is closed Sunday. I'd prefer if you were there during the mid day, just before the lunch rush until just after the after school crowd gets in."

Chuckie smiled widely and nodded. "I accept that."

Cat was making notes as she spoke, one page for her, the other for Chuckie to share with Pete and Anna. 'Thank God GreyRider wrote a lot of this out yesterday! This is hard enough with a cast!'

Stone Coyote reached out and took the notebook from her. "Let me do that for ya, Puddy Cat. I can fill in the blanks while you two talk." It was his way of apologizing for his comment about Chuckie's hiring.

"Thanks, darlin'," she replied gratefully, handing her pen over. "You'll start at minimum wage, $7.25 an hour and taxes _are_ taken out. There's no benefits like health and dental insurance or a 401K."

"I accept that. Figure I won't be around long enough to have to worry about that, anyway."

"Let's just cross that particular bridge when we get to it, OK?"

'Could she actually be considering making this long term?' The former accountant and felon looked at his new employer in surprise and wonder, though he kept waiting for her to mention his dipping into Lin's funds, or his prison record. "I accept that, Miss Cat."

She nodded in acknowledgment. "Inventory is kept on an Excel spreadsheet. All ya gotta do is plug in the numbers and the spreadsheet will do the tally. If any supplies are runnin' low, the column will turn red. The merchandise, coffee beans, pastry bags and boxes, and cups and lids are all tracked. Have ya ever used Excel?"

"Yes, ma'am. As long as I don't have to build it, I can put numbers in the right places!"

"Good!" She handed over a piece of paper she'd prepared. "Take this to my bank, this will give y'all permission to write checks on the store's account for the payroll and the supplies. The checks are printed and tracked using Quick Books."

"I accept that."

"Pete and Anna buy all the supplies for the baked goods at a local grocer. They sign out money from petty cash, get the supplies, and bring back the receipt and change which is returned to petty cash. The receipts will be turned over to y'all. Ya scan 'em and add 'em to the Quick Books file. I have an expanding folder for the receipts. _Always _file the paper receipts in the expandable file as a backup along with the deposit slips. Y'all won't have to worry about the deposit, Pete or Anna do it each night."

"I accept that, too." He held up one finger in inquiry. "Do you need me to make a physical count of inventory every day?"

She shook her head. "Nope. The closer runs a report at the end of the night that lists all the purchases - how many cups, shirts, and pastries in bags were sold; how many paper cups and lids were used. The report is left on the desk to be entered in the Excel file. When it comes time to order new inventory, the contacts are stored in a file. Pete will show ya."

Chuckie whistled in admiration. "That's a really well thought process!"

"She's thorough," Tig replied from where he'd been lounging against the bathroom door frame for some time, quietly observing Chuckie's orientation. "She's worked hard to make the place work. It's a good set up."

"Glad you think so, love," she replied, favoring him with 'the look', which was hard for her to maintain. The fully focused sight of him standing nearby in clean clothes with his hair still slightly damp from the shower made her heart race.

Alex nudged the gym bag into the room with his foot. "Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! Don't be such a grouch! You _know_ Chuckie's gonna be a big help to ya!"

She favored him with another blistering 'look', which didn't have quite the desired effect as usual.

"It doesn't work when you don't glare at me with both eyes over the cheaters, baby!" Alex could see the twinkle in her eye that belied her pretend snit. "You can't stay mad at me for long!"

"Oh yeah?" She resolutely turned her head away from him and focused on Chuckie. "I wrote down the room phone number for y'all. Any questions that Pete and Anna can't handle, feel free to call me, OK?"

She heard Alex move up to her and felt the mattress accept his weight as he sat behind her, but she continued to pretend to ignore him. 'Knowin' him, he knows the affect he's havin' on me and is proud of it! Insufferable male animal!'

Alex grinned at her attempt to ignore him. 'Nice try, baby! I will _not _be ignored!' He casually laid his hand on the nape of her neck so that his fingers could caress her skin. 'She's makin' progress. No gauze around her head. It's nice to see her full head of hair again!'

Cat shuddered minutely at his touch, just enough that he felt it and increased the pressure of his caress in acknowledgment. She glanced over her list of topics to discuss with Chuckie, fighting to keep her attention on the matter at hand.

"On to writin' the schedule and the paychecks. I doubt I'll be out of here in time; both are due out Friday by 3pm. There's a calendar on the desk that my staff note any days/hours they can't work, and the schedule is filled from it. Pete and Anna are the managers, one closes, one opens. Try not to schedule an open/close back to back. Anna closes when school is in session. On their off weekday, the other works a split and their off weekdays follow each other. Any questions?"

"Not at the moment, Miss Cat. At least, not about the job. It's about how you'll be paying me."

"By check, darlin'. I don't pay under the table. The club doesn't need any IRS or other Feds crawlin' around, and neither do I. Is that gonna be a problem?"

Chuckie scuffed his shoe lightly along the linoleum. "I don't have a bank account, Miss Cat, and places that cash payroll checks always take a big chunk out as a service fee."

"I see," she replied quietly. "Hand that note to the bank back to me, please." She held out her hand expectantly. Alex's hand tightened on the back of her neck, a warning gesture which she irritably shrugged off. She took the paper, placed it on the table, and bent over it, positioning her body and left arm in such a way that no one could see what she was writing.

Alex tried to look over her shoulder, but her body blocked his every attempt. He exchanged a nervous glance with Chuckie.

When she finished with the note, Cat looked up and unsmilingly handed the note back to Chuckie. "Go ahead. Read the last part out loud."

Chuckie glanced from the note, then at Alex, back at Cat, then back to the letter. A wide smile crossed his face as he read, "PS, please accept this written authorization for Mr. Charles Marstein to cash his payroll check, and **only **his _Charming Pawse _payroll check, against my business account. Any questions or concerns, bring them directly to me at the telephone number listed. Cat Marshall."

The warning pressure on the back of her neck melted into a caress of approval. Gusty sighs of relief issued from all three men.

"Ya had me worried for a minnit there, Puddy Cat," Stone Coyote remarked.

"Me too!" Chuckie admitted.

Cat grinned mischievously. "Any other questions or concerns? This isn't the 'normal' orientation session. Course, this was no ordinary hirin'!"

Beside her, Alex assumed an air of complete and utter innocence. Only the caress warned her of his intention to seek recompense for her comment when they were alone. 'Bring it on, love!'

"I've never scanned any documents before, Miss Cat," Chuckie admitted.

"Nothin' to it, darlin'. Any of the 'kids', as I call my staff, will show you. If you've ever made a photocopy, it's like that, 'cept the copy stays _in _the computer!"

Chuckie grinned in relief. "I accept that. Thank you, Miss Cat, for giving me a chance."

"You were given an overwhelmingly persuasive recommendation. I know y'all have a past, but as far as I'm concerned, that's where it belongs. Welcome to the team!"

Chuckie grinned and waggled a finger at her. She returned the salute with a thumbs up and a warm smile, relaxing against Alex's chest.

"Why don't you two make yourselves scarce for a few minutes?" Alex growled in a manner that was more order than request.

Stone Coyote grinned knowingly and gestured to Chuckie. "C'mon man! Tig's itchin' for some private time with Puddy Cat. I'll treat ya to the last shitty cuppa cawfee you'll ever have!"

Chuckie stood up and trotted after the SAMPOR rider. He stopped at the door to turn and grin at the couple. "Thank you, both," he murmured before scurrying after Stone Coyote.

Alex waited until the door closed behind them to embrace her, drawing her back against him. "I thought they'd never leave!"

"At least you didn't chase them out!" she laughed.

"I was nearly ready to!" he growled, the rumble sounded like thunder in her ear as she rested against him. He turned her face slightly so that he could kiss her deeply and hungrily. When he released her, he whispered gruffly, "Thanks for not throwin' Chuckie's record in his face, baby."

"You're welcome," she replied softly. "Everyone deserves to be given a chance to prove themselves without bein' constantly reminded of their screw ups."

Alex favored her with his own version of 'the look'. "I notice you made sure he wouldn't have the right to cash checks – other than his paycheck – on your account or touch the petty cash!"

"That because if I don't _put _the temptation in front of him, Chuckie _won't _skim anything. I don't expect to set him – or myself – up for failure."

The scowl relaxed into a smile of pride. "I was hopin' that was the case, but you can be one sneaky woman when you wanna be!" He held her close to him so that his hands met on her chest. He remembered to be careful of her cracked rib and the tube. He thought he'd be content with resting his hands on each breast and tease them through the gown's fabric. Instead, he slid his hands around to her back and slipped them through the gown's opening. He slowly ran his hands over her warm skin, trailing his fingers back to her breasts again, enjoying the feel of her hardening nipples under his questing fingers.

"That feels nice, but isn't it kinda unproductive?" she inquired huskily. She could feel his dick harden against her back end.

"Shut up and lemme enjoy this!" He retorted, squeezing her nipples between the thumb and forefinger of each hand. He was rewarded with her sharp intake of breath. He was craving as much physical contact as he could get with her in the short amount of time available. "So, what'd the tests say?"

"Not much of anythin', love. Tests can't talk. Neither do the techs administerin' the damn things except to tell ya to move one way or another!"

Her levity was rewarded with a love bite on her shoulder, right at the base of her neck. His teeth and beard caught her right at her most ticklish spot.

"Hey!" She squealed and tried to squirm away from him. "No fair!"

"That's what you get for being a smart ass!" he growled. "Would you please answer my question?"

"Love, techs never tell ya how things turned out. They grunt, hum, or snort, then they hand everything over to the doctor to evaluate. I was hopin' Dr. Gallagher would be here by now. I hate waitin' around like this!" She sighed in frustration and relaxed against him.

While he'd been watching her interact with Chuckie, he'd also looked over her injuries. He'd winced at the sight of all the bruises on her face and legs, but was relieved that some of the facial swelling had gone down since the night before.

The bandages on her eye had obviously been changed either before or after the tests were run. He'd also not failed to notice that her mouth was set in a determined line, while her right eye seemed filled with liquid green fire.

"You watched the news coverage from Main Street this mornin'," he growled, allowing his hands to roam below the binder. "I wish you'd leave that shit turned off. It's just gonna get ya upset."

She shook her head in disagreement. "I'll be more upset if I _don't _listen in to the newscasts, love! I'd rather hear it live than hear a lot of embellishments later! At least with the tee vee reporters, I can filter out the wheat from the chaff instead of goin' bonkers worryin'."

'Maybe I should give in on this one. Gossip flies around a place like this. Hearing that shit would stress her more than the live reports from the scene. After all, she never called the pre paid one time through the whole fuckin' thing this mornin'. ' He sighed resignedly. "OK, baby. Point taken. Just don't overdo like you did yesterday. I've told SAMPOR to keep the visitors to a minimum today." His hands moved past the binder, caressing her as they moved lower.

"The non medical visitors weren't the problem, love. It was the staff – at least one particular member of the staff – causin' all the uproar!" She still squirmed, but this time with pleasure instead of from trying to get away from his ticklish beard and teeth.

"You need rest, baby, so the charters are gonna keep things quiet around here," he replied tersely.

Cat wanted to debate the point, but decided against it, as he'd given in on the television issue. 'Besides, he's right about yesterday. I feel like Hell, hurt all over, and I'm dead tired. It'll be nice not to have a steady stream of people to keep entertained and assured!' She put her hands over his, raising them back to her breasts and squeezed his hands, a wordless request that he keep them there. "You're right, love."

"I know," he whispered into her ear, bending his head to nuzzle her neck.

Her eyebrow lifted in challenge to his cockiness. "Y'know, I _could _extend that no non medical visitors to your own illustrious self!"

"But you won't," he replied confidently, his voice muffled somewhat from nuzzling her neck. "You'd miss me too much."

"Damn you!" she protested weakly. A wicked smile lit her face as she added, "By the way, love, I get to have a bath today!"

Both of his eyebrows waggled at that unexpected and welcome news. "And you waited until **now **to tell me? You are very evil, woman!" He leapt to the floor and started to pull her into the bathroom.

Cat laughed outright. "Oh, Alex! I'm sorry to get your hopes up -" her gaze darted to his crotch and she added slyly, " - among other things! It's not as easy as that. They have to make sure I don't get water where it shouldn't go." She affected a disappointed expression. "There ain't gonna be anything pleasurable about _this _bath!"

His face fell. "Damn! I was kinda lookin' forward to takin' an active part in it!"

"I understand the feelin', love. Trust me, it ain't gonna be this way much longer. I hate bein' here!"

A discreet tap on the door alerted them that Stone Coyote and Chuckie had returned.

"We're decent!" Cat hollered.

"Speak for yerself," Alex mumbled.

"Stone Coyote was right," Chuckie mused as he and the SAMPOR president walked into the room. "The coffee at the clubhouse tasted better than the stuff they serve here!"

"That's because the clubhouse is brewin' Cat's coffee!" Alex remarked.

"We'll turn you into a coffee snob in no time, Chuckie!" Cat grinned. "I meant to ask you about stayin' at the house. Are you OK with bein' around the cats?"

"Yes, ma'am. Animals seem to like me better than most humans," Chuckie assured her.

"Speakin' of coffee, we've gotta get goin'. Gotta get Chuckie to the house so I can get back to the clubhouse," Tig added, applying a light squeeze to her shoulders that told her he wished he didn't have to leave.

"Pete's already made a house key for ya, Chuckie, and put it on a chain you can wear around your neck. Figured that might make it a little easier for ya to handle."

"Thanks, Miss Cat."

"Love, the cats are at the house, so be alert when you open the door," she advised Alex. "Our eldest, a large black cat named Ebony, likes to try to escape whenever the door is open," she explained to Chuckie.

"Damn thing's big as a house, but fast as lightning," Tig added.

"Help yourself to anything in the fridge that tickles your fancy -" She caught Alex's quick intake of breath and added hastily, " - except for Tig's beer and Snickers bars."

"I accept that!"

"Thank you for takin' this on, Chuckie. Good luck, and welcome to _Charming Pawse!"_

"G'wan ahead to the van, Chuckie. I'll be with you in a bit," Tig added, glancing at Stone Coyote, who grinned an acknowledgment and followed Chuckie out the door.

Alex stepped closer and enfolded her in his arms, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling the usual scent of berries. There was some subtle smells of the wreck as well, but it wasn't as unpleasant or overpowering as he'd expected.

Cat wrapped her arms around his waist and she rested her head against his chest. She closed her eyes and sighed, wishing the moment could last but accepting that it couldn't. She could hear the steady beating of his heart against her cheek.

Alex clasped her face in his hands and kissed her possessively. When he released her lips, he whispered, "I dunno about you, but I'll be glad when this shit is behind us!"

"That makes two of us, Alex."

"Don't worry, baby. There's nothin' to be scared of. We'll be fine. The Mayans won't hurt us and Zobelle doesn't stand a chance without 'em."

Cat nodded against his chest, then eased out of his embrace. "Time's wastin', love. I'll see ya when I see ya."

He walked to the door, snagging the gym bag on his way. "Don't enjoy that bath _too _much. There'd better only be women administering it!"

"Yes, love!"

He grinned wickedly at her, his hand on the doorknob. "I'll admit the thought of you in a bathtub is a _much_ better vision to take into battle than the last one!" He laughed and ducked out the door, barely missed by the pillow she threw at him.

Stone Coyote walked into the room, rescued the pillow, and returned it to her. Outside the door, they could hear Tig's laugh fade down the hall to the elevators.

Chuckie felt less nervous about meeting his new co-workers after meeting Cat. 'It's be nice if this could become a permanent gig. She never said a thing about being worried that I'd rip her off. She's a nice lady in all terms of the word!'

Tig, on the other hand, felt uneasy about going to the house. It was going to be the first time he'd been there since the wreck. 'You can do this, man! She's gonna be back, for cryin' out loud! Snap outta it!' He pulled into the driveway, which seemed empty without the _MF6_ and_ Blackie II _parked there.

"I thought your lady was a rider. Where's her bike?"

"In the garage on the battery tender," Tig replied. "This is our place. The coffeehouse is out back. All ya gotta do is step out the back door of the house and cross the yard to the shop. Easy commute."

They walked to the back gate where Tig pointed out the fenced cat run. "Connects to the house and the shop. They have a glassed – in room in the coffeehouse. There's a door in the house. Keep it open during operating hours, then close 'em off at night. It slides up and down, easy to work."

"That's all there is to their getting back and forth?"

Tig nodded, thinking briefly of happier times he'd spent in the back yard with Cat. He unlocked the door and watched for Ebony as Chuckie slipped inside. Tig stepped through the doorway and closed it as the large black feline raced for the door.

"Shit! He's huge!" Chuckie yelped in surprise. "And he's fast, like you said!"

"He'll be your biggest obstacle to getting in and out of the house," Tig explained. "He usually doesn't give me any shit, he knows who's the top cat in this house."

Ebony glared at him, his tail lashing in outrage. His eyes blazed with a look that clearly stated 'Yeah, right!'

Chuckie laughed at the cat's obvious defiance while Tig dumped the contents of the gym bag in the washer. "C'mon, I'll show ya around."

The tour didn't take long. Tig pointed out the television room, computer room, and library. "This is where you'll sleep. Bathroom's across the hall. Has a tub with shower and separate crapper."

"All the comforts of home. I accept that." Chuckie glanced at the made up air bed. "Very nice and comfy looking. Better than a couch, I'll wager." He glanced down the hall at the closed door. "I take it that's the 'off limits' room, eh?"

"Damn straight!" Tig growled.

"I accept that."

"We keep the washer and dryer closed so the cats don't get into 'em. Keep the crapper lid down for the same reason."

"I accept that. There's a lot of books and music and stuff in there. I didn't think you were that much into the arts."

Tig shrugged. "Most of it belongs to Cat. I've read some of the Star Wars books, and the older paperbacks based on movies and television. The action figures are hers, too."

"I figured that. Fascinating collection." Chuckie replied. "Can I touch?"

"I guess that's a'right. If you break 'em, Cat'll have your ass in a sling!"

"I accept that." Chuckie grinned. 'Wow! The Green Hornet and Kato, the Spartan King, the Lone Ranger! Zorro! And look at the models of star ships and the lightsabre! Plus a sword! This is cool!'

They walked back through the house and Chuckie met Ming, who was perched on the back of the couch, and got a glimpse of Misty, who skittered under the couch. "The little black cat has one eye and is scared of new people. She'll prolly hide from ya for awhile. It ain't personal."

"I accept that. Are we going to the coffeehouse now?"

"Yeah. Then I'll have to go."

They walked across the back yard to the coffeehouse. Chuckie was interested in the fencing that lent privacy to the back yard, and that also separated the yard from the shop by a high gate, similar to the one that led off to the driveway.

Tig unlocked the door and held it open for Chuckie. They stood in the back area, allowing their eyes to adjust to the change from sunlight to room light. "This is where all the support to the place happens. Her employees will show you where everything can be found. It's either Pete or Anna in charge today. C'mon."

Tig led the way to the front, where he found Pete walking around the front area, collecting cups and plates in a pan. There was a fairly good sized crowd given the hour of day. Slick, the SAMPOR charter who'd sat with Cat the previous evening, raised a hand in greeting.

Tig acknowledged Slick's greeting with a wave. "He's with SAMPOR, too. They're guarding the coffeehouse and Cat's employees."

Chuckie nodded, looking all about him with interest at the book wall and the cat room. "This is neat! I like it!"

"Hey, Mr. Tig!" Pete called in greeting. "Is this our new guy?"

"Yeah. Pete, Chuckie Marstein. Cat's already given him a briefing. I'm gonna have to go."

"Before you do," Pete walked over to the counter with the pan, placed it on the floor, and washed his hands in the small sink. "Miss Cat called, said you were on the way. She asked me to fix you a goodie bag and a couple of large black coffees."

"Whiskey blend?" Tig asked hopefully.

"Would I dare give you anything else?" Pete laughed, handing over a pastry bag and a coffee carrier with two large coffee cups in it. "I poured the coffee when I heard the door open. It's still hot, just the way you like it."

'Damn! She's too fuckin' good to me!' Tig sniffed at the pastry bag as his stomach rumbled. "Snicker bar muffins!"

While Tig was checking over his goodie bag, Pete looked over the new addition to the staff. "Tig wasn't kidding about the guy's hands!' He raised a hand in greeting. "I'm Pete. Miss Cat said to expect you."

"Chuckie Marstein," the former accountant grinned. "Nice to meet you."

Tig laid a bill on the counter and gathered the bag and coffee carrier. "I gotta go. I'll be sure to properly thank her next time I see her!" He strode to the back door.

"Take care, Mr. Tig!" Pete called after him.

Tig acknowledged the farewell with a wave of the pastry bag as he opened the back door.

Pete and Chuckie looked at each other and grinned. "C'mon, Chuckie. Let's get you situated." Pete turned to Adrian and added, "We'll be in the office if you need me."

"Gotcha, Pete," Adrian replied.

The two walked back to the office Cat had set up when she first opened the coffeehouse. The office had a large, metal desk with drawers on either side and a long drawer in the center. The desk was against the wall. A wooden unit consisting of numerous labeled cubbyholes rested on top of the desk, which also held a computer monitor and a combination printer/scanner/fax. The computer tower was stored under the desk. A small radio/CD/cassette player rested on top of the wooden unit. There was a desk phone and computer keyboard on the desk, along with a picture of Alex casually leaning against his bike, taken at one of their countryside haunts. Another picture of the feline trio sat next to the one of Alex. A small television rested on the file cabinet next to the desk.

Pete gestured to the chair next to the desk that faced the door, while he took the office chair. "Have a seat Chuckie. I know Miss Cat sent over some notes about your position and stuff. May I have it?"

Chuckie nodded, withdrew the notepaper from his shirt pocket, and handed it to Pete. Despite the bulky bandages on his hands, Chuckie was able to use his one finger to retrieve the paper by holding it against his palm.

'He's got that down to a science. The lack of fingers is old, the bandages must be from the fire at Caracara. Miss Cat mentioned he'd been caught in it,' Pete mused. "Mr. Tig wasn't kidding when he said you could handle things well!"

"It took awhile to learn. Believe me, the bandages don't make things easy."

"Miss Cat told me you'd been caught in the fire at Caracara. Must've been scary," Pete replied sympathetically.

Chuckie nodded. "The worst thing was trying to get help and finding the land line was out. I didn't have a cell and couldn't make an outgoing call. There were four guys involved in it, three of 'em turned against one of their own and knocked him out. When they left, I pulled the guy out and ran for a telephone. My job went up in smoke that night."

"That's why Mr. Tig brought you here, then," Pete mused, shuddering at the thought of what Chuckie had endured that night.

"He's a good friend."

Pete reached to a slot that was labeled 'new hire paperwork packets'. "These are forms that have to be filled out. If it's OK with you, I'll fill 'em out so all you have to worry about is signing them."

"I accept that. Otherwise, we'd be here all day!" Chuckie grinned.

Pete smiled back. "Let me get this paper scanned. I can show you how this works. It's pretty easy." He loaded the notepaper in the combination machine, explaining each step as he worked. He used the mouse to open the machine's program while Chuckie watched intently. The paperwork slowly descended into the machine as the scanner recorded the image into a file.

"This little window tells you the download progress. While we're waiting for it to finish, we can work on these forms. Before I forget," Pete opened the middle drawer to reveal a variety of pens and pencils in one long compartment. Other compartments held paper clips, rubber bands, thumb tacks, blank labels, and other small supplies. A large compartment in the back of the center drawer held boxes of printer cartridges and ribbons.

'She likes to keep things organized. I accept that.'

"Here's the key to the house. It works the locks on both doors." He handed over the key, which was on a chain similar to those used by the military to hold dog tags.

Chuckie slipped the chain over his head, allowing the key to disappear inside his shirt. "Thanks. Tig already gave me the nickel tour of the house, by the way. I saw the cats."

Pete grinned. "Then you met Ebony. He's the alpha cat. My favorite is Ming, the Siamese. He's so regal, and those blue eyes of his look like they've seen a lot of the world."

"The little one eyed cat kinda caught my fancy," Chuckie admitted. "A kindred soul. Both of us are damaged goods."

"Don't let Miss Cat hear you talk like that," Pete warned. "She doesn't think of you that way. She wouldn't have accepted you as an employee if she did, regardless of Tig's opinion."

"I accept that." Chuckie supplied his date of birth, social security number, and other information needed to complete the forms. By the time he'd awkwardly affixed his signature to the forms, the scan of the notebook paper was complete.

Pete handed the paper back to Chuckie. "Now that its' been scanned, all you have to do is save it to a file, and give that file a name," he created a new file labeled 'C. Marstein', clicked on 'save' and then OK when the computer prompted him. The title on the top of the file changed from 'unknown' to 'C. Marstein' in an instant. "File's done!" Pete announced triumphantly.

"Just that easy, eh?"

"Just that easy."

"I accept that. Think I can do it, too. Want me to scan the other forms for practice?"

Pete put the packet of forms together and stuck them in a cubbyhole marked 'papers to be scanned.'

"I'll do that later, during the second half of my shift. Miss Cat has a rule, no one enters their own paperwork in their files. She usually handles all the employee files. They're password protected and she changes the passwords religiously. You can bet the password will be changed on her first day back!"

"I accept that."

Pete swept his hand over the office. "This is where you'll be working most of the time. You're entitled to one free pastry each day. If you bring your own coffee cup, you can have all the coffee you want, gratis. The blended drinks aren't free."

"I accept that. Makes sense, too. Miss Cat mentioned a lull. Is that why it's kinda quiet out there right now?"

"Actually, it's busier than usual, what with the media people and the charters and the misplaced shop owners. This is usually the lull, that 'dead' period between the morning rush and the lunch crowd. Only one person _has _to be here to handle the business, along with whoever's in back, usually Miss Cat. Miss Anna is my co-hort; she's off today. You'll meet her tomorrow."

"I accept that."

"Miss Cat asked me to take you out and get some supplies," Pete added, rising from the office chair. They left the office, Pete signed out, and the two of them went to the front.

"Hey, Adrian. I'm going off shift now. You have my cell number if you need me."

"You and Chuckie heading out on that errand?"

Pete nodded.

From across the coffeehouse, Slick overheard the conversation and nodded slightly to his companion, Tommy Gunn. "They're getting ready to leave. Better get ready to roll, man."

"Gotcha, Slick." Tommy downed the rest of his coffee and gathered his riding gear.

Oblivious to Tommy's preparations to leave with them, Pete introduced Chuckie to Christopher Johns. "He's our other part timer. He and Adrian and JR make up the remainder of our part time crew." Pete reminded the pair that they needed to get their time off requests in before the end of business the next day.

"Will do, Pete," Christopher replied.

"Christopher's a student at the college. So is Adrian. JR's in high school, so he's in class right now. You'll get to meet him later. Fellas, if anything happens, give me a holler before you call Miss Cat. She needs rest."

"Mr. Tig's orders, eh?" Adrian grinned knowingly.

"He didn't say in so many words, but that's the impression I got."

"No worries, boss man," Christopher added. "When you get back, one of us needs to update the Facebook page and the website. People have been leaving messages about Miss Cat. Surely we can let them know she's out of the coma by now!"

"I'll be glad to do that when we get back," Chuckie offered. "She still hurts, and looked pale, but she was definitely out of the coma! Those LOAN bastards really did a number on her."

Adrian and Christopher exchanged glances. Chuckie's words had done more to cement himself as one of 'them' than anything else he could have done.

The two men turned to leave when Adrian called out, "Hey, Chuckie!"

Chuckie turned around, his eyebrows raised in inquiry. "Yeah?"

"Welcome to the team, man!" Christopher and Adrian both gave Chuckie a thumbs up and welcoming smile.

"I accept that. Thanks."

Slick nodded to Tommy Gunn, who walked over to Pete and Chuckie. "I'm following you guys. Just to make sure you're safe. Where's your car?"

"Just around the block," Pete replied. "Black Honda Accord."

Tommy followed them out the door. "I'll catch up to you. Where are we going?"

They walked towards Tommy's Harley, which was on the way to Pete's car. "The thrift stores in Oakland. Figured with the Mayans here, Oakland would be a safe venture."

"Maybe. Then again, maybe not. Can't ever be sure with the Mayans. We're not taking chances with Cat's people." Tommy mounted his bike and adjusted his helmet while Pete and Chuckie walked to his car.

Pete unlocked the passenger side door and held it open for Chuckie before going around to the driver's side. As Pete was adjusting his seat belt, Chuckie mused, "I can't accept you buying clothes for me, even from a thrift store, if that's what you mean by buying supplies for me."

"I do and you will. _ I'm _not buying them. Miss Cat is. She said for you to consider 'em an early or late birthday present, and if you balked, to call her," Pete replied, glancing at his passenger. "I'd really rather not have to go there. Miss Cat's a nice boss, but she's got a temper on her; it's awesome when she's riled up. Mr. Tig's is almost as bad, but I'm more scared of hers. If Miss Cat gets worked up, Mr. Tig's gonna get mad at me for getting her upset."

"I accept that," Chuckie grinned. "I don't want either of them mad at me, either!"

"Glad you agree, man!"

The roar of a Harley engine alerted them to Tommy's arrival. Pete checked in his rear view and received a thumbs up from Tommy. The two vehicle convoy pulled onto Main Street, away from the police barricades.

Jax sat in the passenger seat of the garage's Chevy van, watching the front of the SJCFS building. Chibs and Opie sat next to him. They'd left their cuts at the clubhouse. All were dressed in dark clothing.

Weston's Bronco sat in the parking lot. He'd been inside the building for some time. Unser's intel had proved accurate. He'd learned that Hale had arranged for Weston's supervised visit with his children and had passed that info along to Jax.

The trio intended to take Weston down after he left the family services facility. As they watched, Weston stalked out the door and the trio prepared themselves to move. Weston had changed from his dirt encrusted clothing into fresh pants and white shirt.

Seconds later, Duke walked outside, followed by a caseworker. Weston glared at the African – American county employee. 'Of all people, they had to assign this asshole to my kid!'

The caseworker ignored Weston's scowl as he bent down to assure Duke, placing a hand on the youngster's shoulder before Duke joined his father.

The Sons watched the tableau in consternation. They'd not expected either of Weston's kids to come with him. Unser had indicated the visit was to be supervised, yet the caseworker was standing in front of the open door, watching Duke leave with Weston.

'This isn't good,' Jax requested Chibs call Unser to find out what was going on as Weston and Duke climbed into the Bronco and pulled away from the facility. A marked Charming patrol car fell in behind the Bronco.

Jax put the van in gear and followed the Bronco at a safe distance, keeping the Ford and the cop car in sight but not close enough to arouse either driver's suspicions.

The small convoy motored back into Charming with the Bronco and cop car finally coming to a stop in front of the town's only tattoo parlor.

Jax piloted the van on around the block, turned into an alley, and pulled back around, so that they could watch the shop's door from a parking place across the street. Opie climbed out of the van to check the premises from the back while Chibs spoke with Unser on a pre-paid.

Chibs moved forward into the van's passenger seat and filled in Jax on the additional details he'd learned from Unser. Hale had not just arranged a visit, but a day pass for Duke. Cliffy was still in psychiatric evaluation.

Opie returned and reported in on his findings. The owner of the tattoo parlor was a friend to the club and would be willing to assist them. Opie called the shop's phone, spoke briefly with the owner, Freddie, and outlined what he needed to do. Freddie agreed and the trio left the van for the shop's back door.

They quietly filed inside the back area of the shop and took up positions in the bathroom. Being a two seater, Chibs and Jax hid in stalls while Opie took up a spot behind the door.

Moments later, the door opened to admit Duke and Weston. Weston had no shirt on, as he'd been getting a tattoo on his back. Freddie, unknown to Weston, had deliberately punctured his skin to give him a reason to have to go to the bathroom. Duke's presence wasn't expected.

At the sound of the door opening, Jax and Chibs, guns ready, made their appearance. Duke's eyes grew large as he saw the three armed men. 'This can't be good for Daddy!' He backed against his father, who put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Duke recognized the blond man from the assault on his house a few days earlier.

The men hid their cocked guns, but it was too late. Not only had Duke seen the guns, but he'd also seen their faces. 'Killing Weston is one thing. His kid is an innocent. We don't kill kids, and we're not starting now!' Jax stared at Duke before ordering Weston to send him away.

Weston sighed in resignation and bent down so that his eyes were nearly on a level with Duke. His hand remained reassuringly on Duke's shoulder. He gazed intently at his younger son, his eyes reflecting all the love he felt in his heart and soul for his child. He whispered a few reassuring words, advising his son he just needed to talk to the men and not to tell the police anything. He reminded his son that he loved him and kissed the child on the forehead, grasping his boy's head in both hands. The kiss was firm and his fingers held tightly to the boy's head. The child's hair felt like silk in his hands.

Weston saw in a flash all the things he was going to miss about his boys. Seeing them grow up,experiencing their joys and sorrows as they grew older and bigger, watching them graduate from high school and become a part of the League, following in his footsteps, possibly marrying and having children of their own. 'What kind of future will they have now?' He breathed a silent prayer that his boys would grown up unscathed by what was to follow.

Opie opened the door for Duke, and with a last pat on the back from his father, Duke reluctantly walked from the room. Weston stared longingly after his son, then growled a warning to the Sons that his child was to never see his dead body.

Jax stared at Weston and nodded. Weston turned away to sit on one of the commodes, his head bowed as if in prayer. Opie and Chibs moved towards the door to allow Jax to do what he had to do. Jax stood in front of Weston, waiting until the man indicated he was ready. Weston finally looked up and locked gazes with Jax. Jax raised his gun and fired. Six shots pumped into Weston's body at close range. The silencer on the barrel muffled the gunshots, which wouldn't have been heard over the loud stereo in the parlor itself.

Jax stood still for a moment, watching as the life left Weston's body. Once he knew for sure that Weston wouldn't move again, he closed the stall door, stuck the gun in his pants, and walked towards the bathroom entrance. Opie patted his friend on the back as Chibs opened the door. The trio filed out and Chibs shut the door after them. None of them spoke.

Behind them, a pool of blood spread between Weston's booted feet.

Tig strode across the backyard, glancing at the iron lawn chairs he and Cat often sat in during the mornings and evenings. The old iron chairs were similar to those his parents had in their backyard, the kind that needed sanding and painting every year.

Cat had painted hers a deep red color_, _as red as the _MF6_. He thought briefly of the night he'd sat in the backyard with Big Otto, and had pulled Cat into his lap. 'Not enough nights like that lately. One of the first things I wanna do when she comes home is sit out here with her.'

He pushed another, more erotic thought out of his mind, of the last time they'd been together in the backyard, just a few days ago. 'Cat's right. That kinda thinkin's unproductive. Down, junior. There'll be plenty of time to play later.'

He slipped out the gate and climbed into the van. He knew he should get back to the clubhouse, but he took the time to linger over one of the whiskey blend coffees and a muffin. 'What a woman! Always lookin' out for my needs!' He hefted the cup in a salute to her, savoring the taste of the hot liquid. _  
_

If he still entertained any feelings of inadequacy as a mate, he kept a firm reign on them. 'She's not complainin', and things will settle down once Zobelle and LOAN are out of our hair. I'll figure out a way to even up the score. Not that she's keepin' count! We're all due some down time after all this.'

He finished the muffin and downed the remainder of the first coffee before starting the engine and backing out of the driveway. He saw the feline trio sitting in the front window, watching the van pull away from them. Misty raised herself on her back paws, batting at the window with her front paws as the van drew away. It looked like she was begging him to come back.

"I'll be back, little girl. So will your Mom. Take good care of Chuckie." He lifted a hand at the cats and pulled away down the street towards the clubhouse. He took a sip of the second coffee, finding it difficult to swallow past a lump in his throat.

Pete and Chuckie listened to music on the short drive to Oakland, while Tommy maintained a discreet distance behind them.

As they passed the Oakland city limits, Pete turned down the stereo volume to inquire, "Do you have a preference between the Salvation Army or Goodwill?"

"Salvation Army, if that's OK with you. They do a lot for people like me," Chuckie explained. 'No reason to let him know I'm referring to felons like me, though.'

"If you do as well as Mr. Tig says you do, Miss Cat might take you on permanently, even if only part time. She has that affect on people, makes their luck change for the better."

Pete pulled into the Salvation Army's store parking lot and found a place to park near the door. The Harley pulled up next to them.

"You don't have to come in with us if you don't want to," Pete offered to Tommy.

"I'll stay. Won't hurt to look," Tommy replied.

When they entered the store, Pete discovered that Tommy's idea of looking was to stand near the exit where he could 'look' at the store and keep an eye on them, not so much as shop.

Pete and Chuckie walked over to the menswear section. "Pick out whatever you like in the way of pants, shirts, shoes and stuff. We'll stop elsewhere and get ya under stuff. Miss Cat's say so."

Chuckie hadn't shopped for clothes for himself in some time. Even if second hand, he found the experience a delightful one. He poked through the racks of clothing until he found several outfits that he liked, along with shoes and belts and a jacket or two.

Pete watched Chuckie pick out his new wardrobe, and didn't say anything about a price limit. 'Miss Cat told me to take out $200, and if he wants to spend that much, that's his business.' He only nodded whenever Chuckie asked if he could add an item of clothing to the shopping cart, grinning in response to the new guy's delighted smile.

Within a half hour, Chuckie had selected enough clothing for two week's worth of work and casual wear. When they checked out, the bill was less than $50, and Chuckie had picked out some pretty nice things.

As they were walking to the exit, Chuckie's eyes hit on a military style footlocker. It was marked at $25, and might fit in the back of Pete's car. He looked at Pete, then at the footlocker, an expression of longing on his face.

"I know, man. Their library doesn't have a lot to offer in the way of storing clothes. There is a closet you can use to hang most of 'em. But a man needs a place for his stuff, right?"

Chuckie nodded.

"I accept that. We'll get it. Miss Cat won't mind."

"Are you sure?"

As an answer, Pete walked back to the check out and spoke with the sales clerk, handing over the cash for the footlocker. He walked back to Chuckie and picked up the footlocker, grunting slightly at the weight of it. "It's heavier than I thought it'd be!"

Tommy walked over and took one side of the footlocker, while Pete took the other. Along with Chuckie guiding the shopping cart full of bagged clothing, the trio walked out to the car and loaded everything in the back of the Accord.

"Where next?" Tommy asked.

"To a chain store to get some more stuff, then back to Charming," Pete replied.

"Good enough. Lead on."

The small caravan motored to a big chain store where more purchases were made for Chuckie, including additional bandages and ointment for the burns.

"I don't know how I'm gonna repay Miss Cat for this," Chuckie mused on the drive back to Charming.

"The only repayment she'll accept is for you to do right by her. Don't betray her trust, and you'll have her in your corner. Do her wrong, and not only will you have her and Mr. Tig on your back, but the rest of us will plague you like locusts."

"I accept that," Chuckie said. He felt accepted and wanted, something he hadn't felt since he left Stockton and his friendship with Big Otto. Now he had a place to crash, and had made some good friends. 'Maybe the straight life isn't such a bad thing after all. With people like Tig and Miss Cat behind me, it's worth a shot.'

Cindy Eglee, the Charming police officer Hale had assigned to supervisor Weston's visit with Duke, started to follow the pair to the back of the parlor. It was part of her job to keep them in sight at all times. She stopped when she overheard Weston ask Duke if he needed to use the facilities. 'Nothing in my orders said I have to supervise _that_!'

She returned to the seat she had vacated, but was surprised to see the kid return to the chair he'd vacated only a couple of minutes later. 'Kids never take as long as adults.' There was something in the way the male tattoo artist was behaving that had her on alert. As the minutes passed and Weston didn't return, the officer decided she needed to check on him.

She walked to the kid and barked an inquiry. "What's with your dad? I thought he just had to rinse off his back."

Duke looked at the female cop, but didn't say a word. His hands were clasped between his knees to keep them from shaking. 'Don't tell her anything. Daddy said so!'

"Fine. I'll just check for myself," she growled. She walked to the back of the parlor and knocked on the closed bathroom door. To her surprise, Weston didn't respond to her knock. The officer drew her gun and kicked the door open, moving to the side of the open door in case someone was waiting for her with a loaded gun.

In the brief glance Eglee took of the bathroom, she didn't see anything immediately amiss. She peeked inside again and noticed a pair of jump boots in a stall, along with a puddle of red, viscous fluid. She knew immediately that something bad had gone down, and it had happened on her watch. "Shit!" She clicked on her microphone and called in the death to the dispatcher. Eglee cautiously walked to the stall, opened it from the top of the door, and found Weston sitting on the commode, dead. Several shots were oozing blood. 'Damn! Six shoots!'

Eglee closed her eyes for a moment, thinking of the child outside. 'Does he know anything? He didn't seem alarmed or upset when he came back. Maybe I'd better contact CPS for him, he's going to need someone to talk to!' She radioed into dispatch again, to find the dispatcher had thought along the same lines.

"Patrol, Chief Unser is already aware, CPS has been contacted." The dispatcher's tone might've sounded dispassionate to the uninitiated, but the officer knew better. Neither of them could allow their feelings to show just then.

Eglee's thoughts returned to Duke Weston, waiting for a father to return who would never move again. 'Poor little guy, he's gone through so much already. Someone needs to tell him. I'd better go ahead before things get crazy and he gets scared.' She went back out to the parlor and drew the child aside.

"I have some bad news for you, son," she stated gently, squatting so that her eyes were on a level with Duke's.

He looked at her, his eyes round and fearful, but he still didn't speak.

"Your father is dead. I just found him back there," she indicated the bathroom with a lift of her chin.

Duke nodded his head in silent affirmation. _'_I'm _not_ going to cry. I'm not going to let them see me cry. Daddy would want me to be brave.'

Eglee looked intently at the child in front of her. "Did you hear me, son?"

Duke nodded. He couldn't speak past a lump in his throat. 'I'm not saying anything. Daddy said not to say a word to the cops. You're a cop.'

Eglee continued to gaze at Duke. 'I've never seen a child so stoic about losing a parent. Tears, screaming - I expected that. This quietness about him, that's scary!' She awkwardly patted him on the shoulder and stood up. "If you need anything, I'm here."

Duke only nodded again. The detectives and the caseworker arrived shortly afterwards. Mark, the CPS caseworker who'd removed Duke and Cliff from their home and had seen Duke off with his father, took custody of Duke and led him to his car. 'Poor little fella. He's trying to put up a brave front. Maybe one of the counselors or ministers should talk to him when we get back.'

It didn't take long for the local media to descend on the crime scene. The uniformed officers were soon focused on keeping the media and the curious a distance from the tattoo parlor. The two employees were separated so they could be questioned. The coroner arrived to take possession of Weston's body.

Hale and Unser arrived in separate vehicles. Hale was incensed. "The Sons are leaving a trail of bodies! Three dead in a heroin factory in San Joaquin county, now Weston! Zobelle's gonna be next! We _have _to do something!"

"Deputy, there is no proof that the Sons did this!" Unser protested. "I already told you they don't kill innocents; the drug warehouse massacre was _not_ SAMCRO."

Hale snorted derisively. "You know that for a fact?"

"You could say that," Unser replied. "I imagine that ballistic tests will prove I'm right about that, just I'm right about this. It could've been anyone."

"Yeah, right," Hale snorted. 'You know and I know the Sons did it. My money's on Jax, getting revenge for Gemma. Proving it is going to be the hard part."

The bathroom was cordoned off with yellow police tape. Unser and Hale were besieged with requests for on camera interviews from the various reporters. Some were already trying to find a relationship between the two murder scenes.

James Windover was one of the many news reporters present. He stood close enough to Hale and Unser that he overheard their entire conversation. 'It might be off the record, but I can still refer to them as unnamed, knowledgeable sources.'

Jax, Opie, and Chibs returned to the clubhouse to announce the Weston job was done. Jax had convinced the other two there was no reason to tell anyone that Weston's young son had seen their faces.

Happy announced his pride in a job well done. Clay echoed the sentiment as he embraced his step-son. Jax returned the embrace, but he felt numb. 'I should feel relief. I got back at Weston for hurting Mom. Why do I feel so dead inside?'

Bobby updated Jax on the status quo and Piney informed him that Gemma and Tara were getting supplies under Half – Sack's watch.

The crow eater tending bar had poured shots for them all. One of the charters held up his shot glass and toasted 'Sons'. Opie, who'd been embracing Lyla, left her to join the group, raising his shot glass in the toast. They downed their shots and departed into the chapel to prepare for the upcoming confrontation with Zobelle.

Tig checked in with Cat by phone from the clubhouse a little later. He'd already donned his Kevlar, but the coffee and the whiskey were needing a release. He'd decided to take the opportunity to call as opposed to waiting for the hourly check in message.

"Chucky get settled OK?" she asked, trying to keep her tone of voice from showing her unease.

"Yeah. He's got the key to the house, met the cats and Pete. They all seemed to take to him OK. You a'right?" He wasn't fooled by her attempt to be lighthearted. He knew her better.

"Still sore and tired."

"Bullshit! You're worried and scared."

"I can't get anything past you, can I?" she replied forlornly.

"Nope. Wish you'd quit tryin', you stubborn wench!" he replied with a knowing grin. "It's gonna be a'right, baby. We'll get Zobelle and teach the Mayans a lesson, too."

"All y'all gonna wear Kevlar, I presume?"

"Wouldn't go out without it, baby. Already got mine on, so quit worryin', OK?" He growled the last at her, falling easily into the male chauvinist role that usually rankled with her.

"If you say so, love," she replied uncertainly. The fact that she was letting him get away with being a Neanderthal told him the depths of her concern.

"I say so," he replied comfortingly. "I s'pose it'd be a waste of time to ask ya again not to watch any tee vee coverage."

"Sure is, love."

His hand went to the bridge of his nose. "Damn you! You're a stubborn, bull headed, infuriating female!"

"You love me that way!" She laughed, a genuine one that made his heart race.

"Don't get cocky, baby. Gotta go. Thanks for the breakfast, by the way." He wasn't able to say more around another lump in his throat. Just as before the fight at Timberland, there was a lot that he wanted to say but couldn't utter the words.

Cat knew what he was feeling. Her tone softened in that special way she reserved for moments like this. "You're welcome for the breakfast. I'll see ya when I see ya, love," she hung up the phone without allowing him a chance to respond.

Her tone of voice told him what he needed and wanted to hear. He closed his eyes and whispered "Back atcha, baby," before closing the phone and shoving it in his pocket. He squared his shoulders and returned to the chapel.

Cellphones were forbidden in the chapel. The only other exception had been the day the Sons had met to decide which of the women they would ask to serve as Otto's escort for LuAnn's funeral. That had enabled Tig to be able to call his woman during church. This time, it was Clay's cell phone that was in use.

"Zobelle and company are on the move," Juice announced tersely, his normally jolly demeanor missing from his voice, replaced with a no – nonsense attitude. "CPD and JCS units are followin' 'em. Looks like a couple of Mayans are stayin' put."

"Unser is letting us use one of his trucks, have the nomads meet Piney, Happy, and some of the charters at his rental place. You follow at a discreet distance and keep us posted on where Zobelle and Alvarez are going. Keep a couple of charters there to watch the Mayans. We're on the move," Clay replied in equally terse terms. He shut off his cell and shoved it in his pocket. He stood up and grabbed his guns.

His move was a signal to the others to start heading out. Guns filled and extra cartridges loaded in their cut pockets, the Redwood men strode purposefully out of the chapel.

Lyla was seated near the doorway, watching the closed door. She wanted an embrace from Opie before he took off after Zobelle. 'He's spent precious little time with me since this shit began! The least he can do is kiss me goodbye.' She watched as the Sons strode past her without a word or a glance, their faces set in grim determination.

Opie approached and she reached out a hand to stop him. He grasped her hand, squeezed it firmly, and let it drop as he continued forward without a glance in her direction.

She gasped in momentary indignation. 'How _dare _he ignore me? He didn't even break stride!'

The crow eater manning the bar laughed unkindly at Lyla's disappointment. "Honey, let it go. You've got a Hell of a lot to learn!"

Lyla turned an angry glare on the crow eater. "Just who do you think you're talking to?"

"A pretender! Opie might be with you right now, but you're gonna have to undergo a major attitude adjustment before you're any good as a decent old lady to him!" The crow eater replied hotly.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Lyla snapped.

"Look, honey. Gemma and Tara know the men have no time for tender goodbyes at a time like this! Why the fuck do you think they're out gettin' more provisions? You'd have been better off goin' with 'em instead of sitting around mooning over Ope! And you sure as Hell don't hear Tig's cellphone ringing with calls from his hospitalized old lady! They'd be a distraction right now, like you tried to be!"

Unkind laughter followed the crow eater's caustic observations. A light chorus of "Damn straight!" and "You tell her, girlfriend!" were murmured by the other crow eaters.

Very few of the women felt sympathy for Lyla. Some had tried to talk to her or befriend her when the lock down began. They'd received a snub in return for their efforts. As far as they were concerned, Lyla meant little to them and they couldn't care less if they hurt her feelings.

Unser was waiting outside for the Sons. They filed wordlessly past him to their bikes, their minds and focus set on getting Zobelle. Clay stopped long enough to confer briefly with the police chief. The two men exchanged a brief and awkward embrace, then Clay strode to his bike. In moments, the Sons roared from the parking area and onto the street, in search of Zobelle.

Zobelle relaxed in the passenger seat of his Mercedes. He felt safe with Marcus Alvarez behind the wheel while the Mayans led and followed the silver car. 'Between them and the police escort, the Sons will not dare try anything! I just wish Polly would answer her phone!'

He tried once again to contact Polly, but his call went directly to voice mail. 'She has turned off her phone. I might not be able to wait for her to catch up. I had best plan on reserving a separate charter flight for her to use later.'

Marcus Alvarez did not share Zobelle's relief. If anything, he was more nervous than when he'd first led his club into Charming. He knew the Sons could be anywhere and strike out at any time. 'I'll be happy to have this _hombre _out of my hair once and for all. Then I can concentrate on eliminating the Triads, the 1 – 9ers, _and _the Sons!'

His eyes darted from the inside rear view mirror to both outside rear view mirrors, back to the road in front of him and then made the entire circuit again, his vision ever on the alert for pursuing Sons.

The police escort from CPD and JCS dropped out of the motorcade when they reached the highway. That unnerved Zobelle, as he'd expected the police to follow them to the county line.

The highway was curiously devoid of traffic, both on their side of the road as well as in the opposite lanes. 'Strange. I have never known a highway to be so clear of traffic.' He glanced in his own rear view mirror and saw a contingent of Harleys moving up fast behind the Mayan cycles, followed by a 24 foot truck.

Zobelle glanced behind him to make sure he wasn't imagining the sight, then uttered a low warning to Alvarez.

'No shit, _esse! _I don't like the looks of this!' Alvarez watched the rear view mirror as the rental truck sped up and passed the Sons and his own riders, pulled even with the Mercedes, and then passed it and Alvarez' leading riders.

Alvarez started to breath a sigh of relief when Zobelle cried out a warning as the truck veered into their lane and the back door of the truck rose.

A loud "Yahoo!" issued from the back of the truck as armed Sons, led by Piney and Happy, opened fire on the lead Mayans, blowing out tires and sending riders sprawling to the pavement. Piney managed to fire a shot directly into the left front tire of the Mercedes. Alvarez brought the car to an abrupt halt and leapt from it, running behind the car.

Behind him, the Sons had stopped their bikes and were opening fire, aiming above and to the sides of the Mayans. Their intent was not to kill or maim the rival gang, but to scare them away from Zobelle.

Clay hollered to Alvarez to clear out while he still could. Alvarez didn't wait around to discuss the case. 'Zobelle is on his own!' he noted dryly that the businessman had already moved into the driver's seat and was limping away on the bad tire, striking one of the injured Mayans in the process.

Alvarez gave the signal and his club roared away. The Sons holstered their weapons and mounted their bikes in pursuit of the Mercedes.

Sleeved Biker, another member of SAMPOR, was sitting with Cat that afternoon when the television news came on with live coverage of another breaking story. Because her 'protege' Windover was covering the events in Charming, she'd kept the television tuned to Channel 2.

"They're at it again, Cat," Sleeved Biker announced, turning up the television volume.

"...We've just received word that cigar impresario Ethan Zobelle has left his store in Charming, under the protection of the Oakland motorcycle club the Mayans. As you'll recall, a standoff between the Sons of Anarchy motorcycle club of Charming and the Mayans occurred in the middle of the town's Main Street earlier today. A large number of the Charming club eventually departed after what appeared to be a meeting between leaders of the two clubs. A small contingent of the Sons remained on Main Street, while the Mayan club remained en masse on the opposite side of the street. Jame Windover has been covering the story, and is live on the scene now. James, can you tell us what is happening?"

A close up of the reporter, with a banner announcing _'An UnCharming Siege'_ superimposed beneath him and a long shot over his shoulder to the bikers in the background appeared on screen.

"We've been seeing movement amongst the Mayan bikers parked in front of the _Impeccable Smokes _store in Charming. We have been unable to confirm from police on the scene but believe it's possible that they're leaving and providing an escort for Ethan Zobelle.

"As I reported earlier, the local motorcycle club, the Sons of Anarchy, has been at odds with Zobelle for some time," Windover continued in a voice over as video of the rally was shown. "Zobelle was recently outed to the town at a peace rally as a member of the white separationist group the League of American Nationalists."

The news anchor appeared on a split screen with the rally segment and nodded affirmatively. "You covered that rally, James. The woman spearheading the rally, Cat Marshall, owner/operator of the _Charming Pawse _coffeehouse was critically injured that same night in an auto wreck."

On cue, video showing the wrecked PT Cruiser being taken away on the Teller – Morrow truck was shown as Windover's voice over confirmed, "Yes, she was. Though sources indicated that members of LOAN, as the League is known, were behind the wreck, no conclusive evidence was found to support that allegation. The accident is still under investigation."

Cat winced at the sight of her mangled _MF6. _'Yup, he's a goner! Good thing he's paid off! Guess I need to add car shoppin' to my to – do list!'

The camera had tightened to a close up of the Mayans parked in front of the cigar store. Sure enough, the door opened and Marcus Alvarez, the leader of the Oakland club and Zobelle stepped out and walked to his Mercedes. Alvarez climbed into the driver's side while Zobelle occupied the passenger side.

"Zobelle and the Mayan who had conversed with the leader of the Sons earlier have left the cigar store, the Mayan will be driving," Windover announced over the roar of Harley engines. The camera panned across the way to show Juice on his cellphone.

"Looks like Juice is callin' it in to the club," Sleeved Biker noted.

Cat closed her eyes and breathed a prayer of protection for the Sons. 'It might not be Kosher to ask such of the Almighty, but it never hurts to ask! They need all the help they can get!'

The camera followed as the Mayan bikes roared down Main Street towards the waiting reporters, followed by Zobelle's Mercedes and more Mayans. One or two Mayans remained parked in front of the cigar store.

"Charming's Main Street is returning to normal, as the Sons are allowing the Mayans and Zobelle's car to leave unchallenged. Whatever happens from here may take place outside of town. CPD officials and Joaquin County Sheriff deputies are following the motorcade at a discreet distance. The remaining Sons are going off in the opposite direction. It appears the siege here is over, with no injuries or property damage. We'll have more on this story on the evening news. This is James Windover reporting live from Charming."

"You're wrong, Jimmy boy," Cat breathed softly. "The shit is only just startin' to hit the fan."


End file.
